THE  LD 
Ol 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


IN  MEMORY  OF 
MRS.  VIRGINIA  B.  SPORER 


Englteb 
ComlSle  t>umafne 

"Romance  anD  Tbumor 


ENGLISH   HUMORISTS 

OF    THE 

EIGHTEENTH   CENTURY 


SIR  RICHARD  STEELE 
JOSEPH  ADDISON 
LAURENCE  STERNE 
OLIVER  GOLDSMITH 


Comebie_1bumaine 
•Romance  anfc  Dumor 

Masterpieces  of  the  great 
English  novelists  in  which 
are  portrayed  the  varying 
aspects  of  English  life  from 
the  time  of  Addison  to  the 
present  day  :  a  series  anal- 
ogous to  that  in  which 
Balzac  depicted  the  man- 
ners and  morals  of  his 
French  contemporaries. 


Bnglisb  Come'&te  t>umaine 
'Romance  and  tmmor 


ENGLISH  HUMORISTS 

OF  THE 

EIGHTEENTH    CENTURY 


SIR  RICHARD  STEELE 
JOSEPH  ADDISON 
LAURENCE  STERNE 
OLIVER  GOLDSMITH 


ILLUSTRATED  AFTER  DRAWINGS  BY 

WILLIAM  HOGARTH 

SHOWING  THE  DRESS,  MANNERS  AND  CUSTOMS 
OF  THAT  PERIOD 


M44<*<tS  <^M^>^ 


0^ 


NEW   YORK 

Centurp  Co 

1907 


Copyright,  1906,  by 
THE  CENTURY  Co. 

Published  April,  1906. 


THE  De  VINNE  PRESS 


PUBLISHER'S  NOTE. 

In  this,  the  initial  volume  of  the  second  series  of  the  English 
Comedie  Humaine,  the  delightful  sketches  and  essays  of  Eigh- 
teenth Century  Life  by  the  early  English  humorists  and  satirists, 
will  be  enjoyed  as  thoroughly  by  the  modern  reader  as  by  the 
society  whose  shortcomings  they  aimed  to  correct ;  and  a  sort  of 
visualizing  emphasis  is  given  to  this  unique  collection  of  papers  by 
the  remarkable  Hogarth  drawings. 

The  papers  from  The  Tatler,  and  its  successor,  The  Spectator, 
include  some  of  the  best  work  of  both  Addison  and  Steele.  In 
touching  on  the  various  social  follies  of  the  day  with  his  own 
exquisitely  gentle  ridicule,  Addison  is  at  his  humorous  best ;  while 
Steele  is  most  felicitous  perhaps  when  he  aims  at  the  fashionable 
absurdities  of  women  which  he  does  in  forceful  yet  sympathetic 
style. 

The  Tatler  was  started  in  1709  and  in  1711  was  merged  into 
The  Spectator  which  in  turn  survived  but  a  year  and  a  half — a 
brief  life  indeed  in  which  to  have  attained  undying  fame. 

The  chief  work  of  Laurence  Sterne,  the  celebrated  English 
novelist  and  humorist,  is  "The  Life  and  Opinions  of  Tristram 
Shandy,  Gentleman,"  containing  nine  volumes,  and  written  during 
the  period,  1760  to  1767.  In  this  present  volume  appear  books 
VI  and  VII,  the  first  containing  the  beautiful  story  of  Le  Fever, 
perhaps  the  most  genuinely  touching  narrative  ever  penned  by 
the  sentimental  Sterne ;  and  the  second  containing  the  vivacious 
account  of  the  author's  saunterings  in  France  written  in  his  most 
vivacious  and  fanciful  strain. 

"The  Citizen  of  the  World ;  or  Letters  of  a  Chinese  Philosopher" 
which  rounds  out  this  volume,  is  Oliver  Goldsmith's  most  brilliant 
contribution  to  humorous  literature.  This  collection  of  letters 
first  appeared  in  an  English  newspaper  and  was  issued  in  book 
form  in  1762.  On  the  surface  is  gay  and  sparkling  facetiousness, 
which  does  not  blind  one  however  to  the  shrewd  observation  and 
keen  delineation  of  national  character.  Beau  Tibbs,  a  prominent 
character  in  this  work,  "is  the  best  comic  sketch,"  says  Hazlitt, 
"since  the  time  of  Addison ;  unrivalled  in  his  fancy,  his  vanity  and 
his  poverty," 


CONTENTS. 


STEELE  PAGB 

From  Thackeray's  English  Humorists I 

The  Tatler 

No.     25    Duelling 43 

35    Snuff 45 

60   Tom  Wildair 47 

77    Fashionable  affectations 49 

79    Marriage  of  Jenny  Distaff 52 

86   Scene  of  country  etiquette 56 

88  A  dancing-master  practising  by  book 59 

89  Mr.    Bickerstaff  on  himself 33 

95    A  visit  to  a  friend 39 

103  Applications  for  permission  to  use  canes,  etc 6 1 

104  Mrs.  Tranquillus 66 

1 1 6   The  petticoat 70 

124   On  the  lottery 73 

126   The  prude  and  the  coquette 76 

131  Trial  of  the  wine-brewers 80 

132  Our  club 84 

136   Tom  Varnish 87 

148    Kickshaws 89 

151    Beauty  unadorned 93 

1 5  5    The  political  upholsterer 96 

1 58    Tom  Folio 99 

1 60   A  visit  and  letter  from  the  upholsterer 102 

165    The  critic 104 

181    Memories  of  his  childhood 35 

192    Characters  in  a  stage-coach 108 

vii 


CONTENTS. 

PAGR 

No.  202   Ambition 1 1 1 

208   Flattery  as  an  art 114 

224   On  advertisements 117 

249   Adventures  of  a  shilling 120 

254   Frozen  words 1 24 

263  Late  hours 127 

264  On  long-winded  people 130 

266   On  the  art  of  growing  old 133 

ADDISON 

From  Thackeray's  English  Humorists 137 

The  Spectator 

No.       7    Popular  superstitions 149 

9   Clubs 152 

10   The  uses  of  the  Spectator 155 

12   Effect  of  the  supernatural  on  the  imagination 158 

1 5    Dress  and  show 162 

18    Italian  opera 165 

2 1    Choice  of  a  profession 168 

25  Letter  from  a  valetudinarian   171 

26  Reflections  in  Westminster  Abbey 1 74 

28    Office  for  the  regulation  of  signs 177 

34  The  club  of  spectators 1 80 

35  False  wit  and  humour 183 

37    A  lady's  library 1 86 

45    French    fashions 190 

49   The  coffee-house 193 

69   The  Royal  Exchange 196 

72   The  everlasting  club , 199 

86   On  physiognomy 205 

8 1    Party  patches 202 

90   Adventure  of  M.  Pontignan 208 

102   Exercise  of  the  fan 212 

viii 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

No.  105    On   pedantry 215 

151    The  man  of  pleasure 217 

156   A  woman's  man 221 

173   Account  of  a  grinning-match 224 

179   Account  of  a  whistling-match 227 

195    On  temperance 230 

198    Character  of  the  salamanders 234 

209   Satire   on  women 237 

215    On  education 241 

25 1   The  cries  of  London 244 

262   The  Spectator's  success 248 

295    Pin-money 251 

299   Letter  from  Sir  John  Envil 254 

317    On   waste   of  time 258 

323    A  young  lady's  journal  of  a  week 262 

367   Various  advantages  of  the  spectators 266 

371    Humourous  way  of  sorting  companies 268 

397    On  compassion 272 

403    On  the  death  of  the  King  of  France 275 

435    On   female  extravagances 278 

447    Custom 28 1 

452    On  news-writers  and  readers 284 

458    On  true  and  false  modesty 288 

530   Marriage  of  Will  Honeycomb 291 

549   On  retirement 293 

STERNE  AND  GOLDSMITH 

From  Thackeray's  English  Humorists 297 

STERNE 

The  Story  of  Le  Fever  (from  the  Life  and  Opinions  of  Tristram 

Shandy) 325 

Saunterings  in  France,  Book  VII   (from  the  Life  and  Opinions 

of  Tristram  Shandy) 339 

ix 


CONTENTS. 

PAGB 

GOLDSMITH 

Papers  from  The  Citizen  of  the  World :  letters  from  a  Chinese 
philosopher,  residing  in  London,  to  his  friends  in  the  East. 

No.       I    Introduction 389 

2  Arrival  of  the  Chinese  philosopher  in  London.     His 

motives  for  the  journey.     Some  description  of  the 
streets  and  houses 389 

3  The  description  of  London  continued.     The  luxury 

of  the  English.     Its  benefits.     The  fine   gentle- 
man.    The  fine  lady 392 

4  English    pride.     Liberty.      An    instance   of  both. 

Newspapers.       Politeness 395 

5  English  passion  for  politics.      A  specimen  of  a  news- 

paper.       Characteristics    of    the     manners     of 
different    countries 398 

12  The    funeral    solemnities   of   the   English.     Their 

passion  for  nattering  epitaphs 401 

13  An  account  of  Westminster  Abbey.     (First  appear- 

ance of  the  "  Man  in  Black  ") 404 

14  The    reception  of  the  philosopher  from  a  lady  of 

distinction 408 

21    The  philosopher  goes  to  see  a  play 411 

26  The  character  of  the  Man  in  Black;  with  some  in- 

stances of  his  inconsistent  conduct 415 

27  The  history  of  the  Man  in  Black 418 

28  On  the  great  number  of  old  maids  and  bachelors  in 

London.     Some  of  the  causes 423 

29  A  description  of  a  club  of  authors , 426 

30  The  proceedings  of  the  club  of  authors 428 

41    The  behaviour   of   the   congregation  in  St.  Paul's 

church  at  prayers 433 

45  The  ardour  of  the  people  of  London  in  running  after 

sights  and  monsters 435 

46  (The  looking-glass  of  Lao),  a  dream 439 


CONTENTS. 

PACK 

No.     51    A  bookseller's  visit  to  the  Chinese  philosopher 443 

52  The  impossibility  of  distinguishing  men  in  England 

by  their  dress.     Two  instances  of  this 446 

53  The  absurd  taste  for  certain  forms  of  literature ....     449 

54  The  character  of  an  important  trifler,  (Beau  Tibbs).     452 
5  5    The    character  of  the  trifler   continued :   with  that 

of  his  wife,  his  house,  and  furniture 455 

58   A  visitation  dinner  described 458 

64  The   great   exchange   happiness  for  show.      Their 

folly  in  this  respect  of  use  to  society 462 

65  The  history  of  a  philosophic  cobbler 464 

71    The  shabby  Beau,  the  Man  in  Black,  the  Chinese 

Philosopher,  etc.,  at  Vauxhall 466 

74  The  description  of  a  little  great  man 470 

77  The  behaviour  of  a  shopkeeper  and  his  journeyman  473 

78  The  French  ridiculed  after  their  own  manner 475 

79  The  preparations  of  both  theatres,  for  a  winter  cam- 

paign    477 

81  The  ladies'  trains  ridiculed 479 

86  The  races  of  Newmarket  ridiculed.  Description  of 

a  cart  race 48 1 

88   The  ladies  advised  to  get  husbands.     A   story  to 

this  purpose 484 

90  The  English  subject  to  the  spleen 487 

91  The  influence  of  climate  and  soil  upon  the  tempers 

and  dispositions  of  the  English 490 

96  The  condolence  and  congratulation  upon  the  death 
of  the  late  king  ridiculed.  English  mourning 
described 492 

98  A  description  of  the  courts  of  justice  in  Westminster 

Hall 495 

99  A  visit  from  the  little  Beau.     The  indulgence  with 

which  the  fair  sex  are  treated  in  several  parts  of 
Asia. 498 

xi 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 


No.  102  The  passion  for  gaming  among  ladies  ridiculed.  . .  500 

105  The  intended  coronation  described 501 

112  An  election  described 505 

1 17  A  city  night-piece 507 

119  On  the  distresses  of  the  poor;  exemplified  in  the  life 

of  a  private  sentinel 509 

123  The  conclusion 513 


XH 


ILLUSTRA  TING  "  THE  TA  TLER" 
Marriage  a  la  mode,  Plate  I Frontispiece 

FACING  PAGE 

Roast  Beef  at  the  Gate  of  Calais No.   148 90 

The  Politician 155 98 

The  Country  Inn  Yard 192 108 

Modern  Midnight  Conversation 263 128 


ILLUSTRATING  "THE  SPECTATOR" 

Taste  in  High  Life No.      15 164 

Marriage  a  la  mode,  Plate  IV 45 192 

The  Rake's  Progress,  Plate  II 151 218 

South wark  Fair 1 73  &  1 79 . .  226 

The  Enraged  Musician 251 246 


ILLUSTRATING  "THE  CITIZEN  OF  THE  WORLD" 

Morning Letter  II 390 

Noon Ill 394 

England,  Plate  II IV 396 

The  Election,  Plate  II,  canvassing  for  votes. .  V 400 

The  Sleeping  Congregation XLI 434 

France,  Plate  I LXXVIII.476 

Marriage  a  la  mode,  Plate  II CII 500 

The  Election,  Plate  I,  the  Entertainment CXI  1 506 


Kill 


PAPERS  FROM 
THE  TATLER  AND  THE  SPECTATOR 

BY  SIR  RICHARD  STEELE  AND 
JOSEPH  ADDISON 

WITH  INTRODUCTIONS  FROM 

THACKERAY'S    " ENGLISH    HUMORISTS" 


STEELE 


STEELE 

FROM  THACKERAY'S   "ENGLISH   HUMORISTS" 


WHAT  do  we  look  for  in  studying  the  history  of  a  past  age  ? 
Is  it  to  learn  the  political  transactions  and  characters  of  the 
leading  public  men?  is  it  to  make  ourselves  acquainted  with  the 
life  and  being  of  the  time  ?  If  we  set  out  with  the  former  grave 
purpose,  where  is  the  truth,  and  who  believes  that  he  has  it  entire  ? 
What  character  of  what  great  man  is  known  to  you?  You  can 
but  make  guesses  as  to  character  more  or  less  happy.  In  common 
life  don't  you  often  judge  and  misjudge  a  man's  whole  conduct, 
setting  out  from  a  wrong  impression?  The  tone  of  a  voice,  a 
word  said  in  joke,  or  a  trifle  in  behavior  —  the  cut  of  his  hair  or 
the  tie  of  his  neck-cloth  may  disfigure  him  in  your  eyes,  or  poison 
your  good  opinion;  or  at  the  end  of  years  of  intimacy  it  may  be 
your  closest  friend  says  something,  reveals  something  which  had 
previously  been  a  secret,  which  alters  all  your  views  about  him,  and 
shows  that  he  has  been  acting  on  quite  a  different  motive  to  that 
which  you  fancied  you  knew.  And  if  it  is  so  with  those  you  know, 
how  much  more  with  those  you  don't  know  ?  Say,  for  example, 
that  I  want  to  understand  the  character  of  the  Duke  of  Marlborough. 
I  read  Swift's  history  of  the  times  in  which  he  took  a  part;  the 
shrewdest  of  observers  and  initiated,  one  would  think,  into  the 
politics  of  the  age  —  he  hints  to  me  that  Marlborough  was  a  coward, 
and  even  of  doubtful  military  capacity:  he  speaks  of  Walpole  as  a 
contemptible  boor,  and  scarcely  mentions,  except  to  flout  it,  the 
great  intrigue  of  the  Queen's  latter  days,  which  was  to  have  ended 
in  bringing  back  the  Pretender.  Again,  I  read  Marlborough's 
life  by  a  copious  archdeacon,  who  has  the  command  of  immense 
papers,  of  sonorous  language,  of  what  is  called  the  best  information; 
and  I  get  little  or  no  insight  into  this  secret  motive  which,  I  believe, 
influenced  the  whole  of  Marlborough's  career,  which  caused  his 
turnings  and  windings,  his  opportune  fidelity  and  treason,  stopped 
his  army  almost  at  Paris  gate,  and  landed  him  finally  on  the  Hano- 


STEELE 

verian  side  —  the  winning  side:  I  get,  I  say,  no  truth,  or  only  a 
portion  of  it,  in  the  narrative  of  either  writer, and  believe  that  Coxe's 
portrait,  or  Swift's  portrait,  is  quite  unlike  the  real  Churchill. 
I  take  this  as  a  single  instance,  prepared  to  be  as  sceptical  about 
any  other,  and  say  to  the  Muse  of  History,  "  O  venerable  daughter 
of  Mnemosyne,  I  doubt  every  single  statement  you  ever  made 
since  your  ladyship  was  a  Muse !  For  all  your  grave  airs  and  high 
pretensions,  you  are  not  a  whit  more  trustworthy  than  some  of 
your  lighter  sisters  on  whom  your  partisans  look  down.  You  bid 
me  listen  to  a  general's  oration  to  his  soldiers :  Nonsense !  He  no 
more  made  it  than  Turpin  made  his  dying  speech  at  Newgate. 
You  pronounce  a  panegyric  of  a  hero:  I  doubt  it,  and  say  you 
flatter  outrageously.  You  utter  the  condemnation  of  a  loose 
character:  I  doubt  it,  and  think  you  are  prejudiced  and  take  the 
side  of  the  Dons.  You  offer  me  an  autobiography:  I  doubt  all 
autobiographies  I  ever  read;  except  those,  perhaps,  of  Mr.  Robin- 
son Crusoe,  Mariner,  and  writers  of  his  class.  These  have 
no  object  in  setting  themselves  right  with  the  public  or  their  own 
consciences;  these  have  no  motive  for  concealment  or  half-truths; 
these  call  for  no  more  confidence  than  I  can  cheerfully  give,  and  do 
not  force  me  to  tax  my  credulity  or  to  fortify  it  by  evidence.  I  take 
up  a  volume  of  Dr.  Smollett,  or  a  volume  of  the  Spectator,  and 
say  the  fiction  carries  a  greater  amount  of  truth  in  solution  than 
the  volume  which  purports  to  be  all  true.  Out  of  the  fictitious 
book  I  get  the  expression  of  the  life  of  the  time ;  of  the  manners,  of 
the  movement,  the  dress,  the  pleasures,  the  laughter,  the  ridicules 
of  society  —  the  old  times  live  again,  and  I  travel  in  the  old  country 
of  England.  Can  the  heaviest  historian  do  more  for  me?" 

As  we  read  in  these  delightful  volumes  of  the  Taller  and  Specta- 
tor the  past  age  returns,  the  England  of  our  ancestors  is  revivified. 
The  Maypole  rises  in  the  Strand  again  in  London ;  the  churches  are 
thronged  with  daily  worshippers;  the  beaux  are  gathering  in  the 
coffee-houses;  the  gentry  are  going  to  the  Drawing-room;  the  ladies 
are  thronging  to  the  toy-shops;  the  chairmen  are  jostling  in  the 
streets ;  the  footmen  are  running  with  links  before  the  chariots,  or 
fighting  round  the  theatre  doors.  In  the  country  I  see  the  young 
Squire  riding  to  Eton  with  his  servants  behind  him,  and  Will 
Wimble,  the  friend  of  the  family,  to  see  him  safe.  To  make  that 
journey  from  the  Squire's  and  back,  Will  is  a  week  on  horseback. 
The  coach  takes  five  days  between  London  and  Bath.  The  judges 


STEELE 

and  the  bar  ride  the  circuit.  If  my  lady  comes  to  town  in  her  post- 
chariot,  her  people  carry  pistols  to  fire  a  salute  on  Captain  Macheath 
if  he  should  appear,  and  her  couriers  ride  ahead  to  prepare  apart- 
ments for  her  at  the  great  caravanserais  on  the  road;  Boniface 
receives  her  under  the  creaking  sign  of  the  "Bell"  or  the  "Ram," 
and  he  and  his  chamberlains  bow  her  up  the  great  stair  to  the 
state-apartments,  whilst  her  carriage  rumbles  into  the  court-yard, 
where  the  "Exeter  Fly"  is  housed  that  performs  the  journey  in 
eight  days,  God  willing,  having  achieved  its  daily  flight  of  twenty 
miles,  and  landed  its  passengers  for  supper  and  sleep.  The  curate 
is  taking  his  pipe  in  the  kitchen,  where  the  Captain's  man  —  having 
hung  up  his  master's  half  pike  —  is  at  his  bacon  and  eggs,  bragging 
of  Ramillies  and  Malplaquet  to  the  town's-folk,  who  have  their 
club  in  the  chimney-corner.  The  Captain  is  ogling  the  chamber- 
maid in  the  wooden  gallery,  or  bribing  her  to  know  who  is  the 
pretty  young  mistress  that  has  come  in  the  coach.  The  pack- 
horses  are  in  the  great  stable,  and  the  drivers  and  ostlers  carousing 
in  the  tap.  And  in  Mrs.  Landlady's  bar,  over  a  glass  of  strong 
waters,  sits  a  gentleman  of  military  appearance,  who  travels  with 
pistols,  as  all  the  rest  of  the  world  does,  and  has  a  rattling  gray 
mare  in  the  stables  which  will  be  saddled  and  away  with  its  owner 
half  an  hour  before  the  "  Fly"  sets  out  on  its  last  day's  flight.  And 
some  five  miles  on  the  road,  as  the  "Exeter  Fly"  comes  jingling 
and  creaking  onwards,  it  will  suddenly  be  brought  to  a  halt  by  a 
gentleman  on  a  gray  mare,  with  a  black  vizard  on  his  face,  who 
thrusts  a  long  pistol  into  the  coach  window,  and  bids  the  company 
to  hand  out  their  purses.  ...  It  must  have  been  no  small  pleasure 
even  to  sit  in  the  great  kitchen  in  those  days,  and  see  the  tide  of 
humankind  pass  by.  We  arrive  at  places  now,  but  we  travel  no 
more.  Addison  talks  jocularly  of  a  difference  of  manner  and  cos- 
tume being  quite  perceivable  at  Staines,  where  there  passed  a 
young  fellow  "with  a  very  tolerable  periwig,"  though,  to  be  sure, 
his  hat  was  out  of  fashion,  and  had  a  Ramillies  cock.  I  would 
have  liked  to  travel  in  those  days  (being  of  that  class  of  travellers 
are  who  proverbially  pretty  easy  coram  latronibus)  and  have  seen 
my  friend  with  the  gray  mare  and  the  black  vizard.  Alas!  there 
always  came  a  day  in  the  life  of  that  warrior  when  it  was  the  fashion 
to  accompany  him  as  he  passed  —  without  his  black  mask,  and 
with  a  nosegay  in  his  hand,  accompanied  by  halberdiers  and  at- 
tended by  the  sheriff,  —  in  a  carriage  without  springs,  and  a  clergy- 

5 


STEELE 

man  jolting  beside  him,  to  a  spot  close  by  Cumberland  Gate  and 
the  Marble  Arch,  where  a  stone  still  records  that  here  Tyburn  turn- 
pike stood.  What  a  change  in  a  century;  in  a  few  years!  Within 
a  few  yards  of  that  gate  the  fields  began :  the  fields  of  his  exploits, 
behind  the  hedges  of  which  he  lurked  and  robbed.  A  great  and 
wealthy  city  has  grown  over  those  meadows.  Were  a  man  brought 
to  die  there  now,  the  windows  would  be  closed  and  the  inhabitants 
keep  their  houses  in  sickening  horror.  A  hundred  years  back, 
people  crowded  to  see  that  last  act  of  a  highwayman's  life,  and 
make  jokes  on  it.  Swift  laughed  at  him,  grimly  advising  him  to 
provide  a  Holland  shirt  and  white  cap  crowned  with  a  crimson 
or  black  ribbon  for  his  exit,  to  mount  the  cart  cheerfully  —  shake 
hands  with  the  hangman,  and  so  —  farewell.  Gay  wrote  the  most 
delightful  ballads,  and  made  merry  over  the  same  hero.  Contrast 
these  with  the  writings  of  our  present  humorists!  Compare  those 
morals  and  ours  —  those  manners  and  ours! 

We  can't  tell  —  you  would  not  bear  to  be  told  the  whole  truth 
regarding  those  men  and  manners.  You  could  no  more  suffer  in  a 
British  drawing-room,  under  the  reign  of  Queen  Victoria,  a  fine 
gentleman  or  fine  lady  of  Queen  Anne's  time,  or  hear  what  they 
heard  and  said,  than  you  would  receive  an  ancient  Briton.  It  is 
as  one  reads  about  savages,  that  one  contemplates  the  wild  ways, 
the  barbarous  feasts,  the  terrific  pastimes,  of  the  men  of  pleasure 
of  that  age.  We  have  our  fine  gentlemen,  and  our  "fast  men"; 
permit  me  to  give  you  an  idea  of  one  particularly  fast  nobleman 
of  Queen  Anne's  days,  whose  biography  has  been  preserved  to  us 
by  the  law  reporters. 

In  1691,  when  Steele  was  a  boy  at  school,  my  Lord  Mohun  was 
tried  by  his  peers  for  the  murder  of  William  Mountford,  comedian. 
In  "Howell's  State  Trials,"  the  reader  will  find  not  only  an  edify- 
ing account  of  this  exceedingly  fast  nobleman,  but  of  the  times  and 
manners  of  those  days.  My  lord's  friend,  a  Captain  Hill,  smitten 
with  the  charms  of  the  beautiful  Mrs.  Bracegirdle,  and  anxious  to 
marry  her  at  all  hazards,  determined  to  carry  her  off,  and  for  this 
purpose  hired  a  hackney-coach  with  six  horses,  and  a  half-dozen 
of  soldiers,  to  aid  him  in  the  storm.  The  coach  with  a  pair  of 
horses  (the  four  leaders  being  in  waiting  elsewhere)  took  its  station 
opposite  my  Lord  Craven's  house  in  Drury  Lane,  by  which  door 
Mrs.  Bracegirdle  was  to  pass  on  her  way  from  the  theatre.  As  she 
passed  in  company  of  her  mamma  and  a  friend,  Mr.  Page,  the 

6 


STEELE 

Captain  seized  her  by  the  hand,  the  soldiers  hustled  Mr.  Page  and 
attacked  him  sword  in  hand,  and  Captain  Hill  and  his  noble  friend 
endeavored  to  force  Madam  Bracegirdle  into  the  coach.  Mr. 
Page  called  for  help:  the  population  of  Drury  Lane  rose:  it  was 
impossible  to  effect  the  capture;  and  bidding  the  soldiers  go  about 
their  business,  and  the  coach  to  drive  off,  Hill  let  go  of  his  prey 
sulkily,  and  waited  for  other  opportunities  of  revenge.  The  man 
of  whom  he  was  most  jealous  was  Will  Mountford,  the  comedian; 
Will  removed,  he  thought  Mrs.  Bracegirdle  might  be  his:  and  ac- 
cordingly the  Captain  and  his  lordship  lay  that  night  in  wait  for 
Will,  and  as  he  was  coming  out  of  a  house  in  Norfolk  Street,  while 
Mohun  engaged  him  in  talk,  Hill,  in  the  words  of  the  Attorney- 
General,  made  a  pass  and  ran  him  clean  through  the  body. 

Sixty-one  of  my  lord's  peers  finding  him  not  guilty  of  murder, 
while  but  fourteen  found  him  guilty,  this  very  fast  nobleman  was 
discharged:  and  made  his  appearance  seven  years  after  in  another 
trial  for  murder  —  when  he,  my  Lord  Warwick,  and  three  gentle- 
men of  the  military  profession,  were  concerned  in  the  fight  which 
ended  hi  the  death  of  Captain  Coote. 

This  jolly  company  were  drinking  together  at  "Lockit's"  in 
Charing  Cross,  when  angry  words  arose  between  Captain  Coote 
and  Captain  French;  whom  my  Lord  Mohun  and  my  Lord  the 
Earl  of  Warwick  and  Holland  endeavored  to  pacify.  My  Lord 
Warwick  was  a  dear  friend  of  Captain  Coote,  lent  him  a  hundred 
pounds  to  buy  his  commission  in  the  Guards;  once  when  the  cap- 
tain was  arrested  for  i3/.  by  his  tailor,  my  lord  lent  him  five  guineas, 
often  paid  his  reckoning  for  him,  and  showed  him  other  offices  of 
friendship.  On  this  evening  the  disputants,  French  and  Coote, 
being  separated  whilst  they  were  upstairs,  unluckily  stopped  to 
drink  ale  again  at  the  bar  of  "  Lockit's."  The  row  began  afresh  — 
Coote  lunged  at  French  over  the  bar,  and  at  last  all  six  called  for 
chairs,  and  went  to  Leicester  Fields,  where  they  fell  to.  Their 
lordships  engaged  on  the  side  of  Captain  Coote.  My  Lord  of 
Warwick  was  severely  wounded  hi  the  hand,  Mr.  French  also  was 
stabbed,  but  honest  Captain  Coote  got  a  couple  of  wounds  —  one 
especially,  "a  wound  in  the  left  side  just  under  the  short  ribs,  and 
piercing  through  the  diaphragma,"  which  did  for  Captain  Coote. 
Hence  the  trials  of  my  Lords  Warwick  and  Mohun :  hence  the  as- 
semblage of  peers,  the  report  of  the  transaction,  in  which  these 
defunct  fast  men  still  live  for  the  observation  of  the  curious.  My 

7 


STEELE 

Lord  of  Warwick  is  brought  to  the  bar  by  the  Deputy  Governor 
of  the  Tower  of  London,  having  the  axe  carried  before  him  by  the 
gentleman  gaoler,  who  stood  with  it  at  the  bar  at  the  right  hand 
of  the  prisoner,  turning  the  edge  from  him;  the  prisoner,  at  his 
approach,  making  three  bows,  one  to  his  Grace  the  Lord  High 
Steward,  the  other  to  the  peers  on  each  hand;  and  his  Grace  and 
the  peers  return  the  salute.  And  besides  these  great  personages, 
august  in  periwigs,  and  nodding  to  the  right  and  left,  a  host  of  the 
small  come  up  out  of  the  past  and  pass  before  us  —  the  jolly  cap- 
tains brawling  in  the  tavern,  and  laughing  and  cursing  over  their 
cups  —  the  drawer  that  serves,  the  bar-girl  that  waits,  the  bailiff 
on  the  prowl,  the  chairmen  trudging  through  the  black  lampless 
streets,  and  smoking  their  pipes  by  the  railings,  whilst  swords  are 
clashing  in  the  garden  within.  "  Help  there !  a  gentleman  is  hurt ! " 
The  chairmen  put  up  their  pipes,  and  help  the  gentleman  over  the 
railings,  and  carry  him,  ghastly  and  bleeding,  to  the  Bagnio  in 
Long  Acre,  where  they  knock  up  the  surgeon  —  a  pretty  tall  gentle- 
man :  but  that  wound  under  the  short  ribs  has  done  for  him.  Sur- 
geon, lords,  captains,  bailiffs,  chairmen,  and  gentleman  gaoler 
with  your  axe,  where  be  you  now?  The  gentleman  axeman's 
head  is  off  his  own  shoulders;  the  lords  and  judges  can  wag  theirs 
no  longer;  the  bailiff's  writs  have  ceased  to  run;  the  honest  chair- 
men's pipes  are  put  out,  and  with  their  brawny  calves  they  have 
walked  away  into  Hades  —  all  as  irrecoverably  done  for  as  Will 
Mountford  or  Captain  Coote.  The  subject  of  our  night's  lecture 
saw  all  these  people  —  rode  in  Captain  Coote's  company  of  the 
Guards  very  probably  —  wrote  and  sighed  for  Bracegirdle,  went 
home  tipsy  in  many  a  chair,  after  many  a  bottle,  in  many  a  tavern  — 
fled  from  many  a  bailiff. 

In  1709,  when  the  publication  of  the  Tatter  began,  our  great- 
great-grandfathers  must  have  seized  upon  that  new  and  delightful 
paper  with  much  such  eagerness  as  lovers  of  light  literature  in  a 
later  day  exhibited  when  the  Waverley  novels  appeared,  upon 
which  the  public  rushed,  forsaking  that  feeble  entertainment  of 
which  the  Miss  Porters,  the  Anne  of  Swanseas,  and  worthy  Mrs. 
Radcliffe  herself,  with  her  dreary  castles  and  exploded  old  ghosts, 
had  had  pretty  much  the  monopoly.  I  have  looked  over  many 
of  the  comic  books  with  which  our  ancestors  amused  themselves, 
from  the  novels  of  Swift's  coadjutrix,  Mrs.  Manley,  the  delectable 
author  of  the  "  New  Atlantis,"  to  the  facetious  productions  of  Tom 

8 


STEELE 

Durfey,  and  Tom  Brown,  and  Ned  Ward,  writer  of  the  "London 
Spy"  and  several  other  volumes  of  ribaldry.  The  slang  of  the 
taverns  and  ordinaries,  the  wit  of  the  Bagnios,  form  the  strongest 
part  of  the  farrago  of  which  these  libels  are  composed.  In  the 
excellent  newspaper  collection  at  the  British  Museum,  you  may  see 
besides,  the  Craftsman  and  Postboy  specimens,  and  queer  speci- 
mens they  are,  of  the  higher  literature  of  Queen  Anne's  time.  Here 
is  an  abstract  from  a  notable  journal  bearing  date,  Wednesday, 
October  i3th,  1708,  and  entitled  "  The  British  Apollo;  or,  curious 
amusements  for  the  ingenious,  by  a  society  of  gentlemen."  The 
British  Apollo  invited  and  professed  to  answer  questions  upon 
all  subjects  of  wit,  morality,  science,  and  even  religion;  and  two 
out  of  its  four  pages  are  filled  with  queries  and  replies  much  like 
some  of  the  oracular  penny  prints  of  the  present  time. 

One  of  the  first  querists,  referring  to  the  passage  that  a  bishop 
should  be  the  husband  of  one  wife,  argues  that  polygamy  is  justifi- 
able in  the  laity.  The  society  of  gentlemen  conducting  the  British 
Apollo  are  posed  by  this  casuist,  and  promise  to  give  him  an  answer. 
Celinda  then  wishes  to  know  from  "the  gentlemen,"  concerning 
the  souls  of  the  dead,  whether  they  shall  have  the  satisfaction  to 
know  those  whom  they  most  valued  in  this  transitory  life.  The 
gentlemen  of  the  Apollo  give  but  cold  comfort  to  poor  Celinda. 
They  are  inclined  to  think  not :  for,  say  they,  since  every  inhabitant 
of  those  regions  will  be  infinitely  dearer  than  here  are  our  nearest 
relatives  —  what  have  we  to  do  with  a  partial  friendship  in  that 
happy  place  ?  Poor  Celinda !  it  may  have  been  a  child  or  a  lover 
whom  she  had  lost,  and  was  pining  after,  when  the  oracle  of  British 
Apollo  gave  her  this  dismal  answer.  She  has  solved  the  question 
for  herself  by  this  time,  and  knows  quite  as  well  as  the  society  of 
gentlemen. 

From  theology  we  come  to  physics,  and  Q.  asks,  "  Why  does  hot 
water  freeze  sooner  than  cold  ?  "  Apollo  replies,  "  Hot  water  cannot 
be  said  to  freeze  sooner  than  cold;  but  water  once  heated  and  cold, 
may  be  subject  to  freeze  by  the  evaporation  of  the  spirituous  parts 
of  the  water,  which  renders  it  less  able  to  withstand  the  power  of 
frosty  weather." 

The  next  query  is  rather  a  delicate  one.  "You,  Mr.  Apollo, 
who  are  said  to  be  the  God  of  wisdom,  pray  give  us  the  reason  why 
kissing  is  so  much  in  fashion:  what  benefit  one  receives  by  it,  and 
who  was  the  inventor,  and  you  will  oblige  Corinna."  To  this 


STEELE 

queer  demand  the  lips  of  Phoebus,  smiling,  answer:  "Pretty  inno- 
cent Corinna!  Apollo  owns  that  he  was  a  little  surprised  by  your 
kissing  question,  particularly  at  that  part  of  it  where  you  desire 
to  know  the  benefit  you  receive  by  it.  Ah!  madam,  had  you  a 
lover,  you  would  not  come  to  Apollo  for  a  solution;  since  there  is 
no  dispute  but  the  kisses  of  mutual  lovers  give  infinite  satisfaction. 
As  to  its  invention,  'tis  certain  nature  was  its  author,  and  it  began 
with  the  first  courtship." 

After  a  column  more  of  questions,  follow  nearly  two  pages  of 
poems,  signed  by  Philander,  Armenia,  and  the  like,  and  chiefly 
on  the  tender  passion ;  and  the  paper  wound  up  with  a  letter  from 
Leghorn,  an  account  of  the  Duke  of  Marlborough  and  Prince 
Eugene  before  Lille,  and  proposals  for  publishing  two  sheets  on  the 
present  state  of  Ethiopia,  by  Mr.  Hill:  all  of  which  is  printed  for 
the  authors  by  J.  Mayo,  at  the  Printing  Press  against  Water  Lane 
in  Fleet  Street.  What  a  change  it  must  have  been  —  how  Apollo's 
cracles  must  have  been  struck  dumb,  when  the  Taller  appeared, 
and  scholars,  gentlemen,  men  of  the  world,  men  of  genius,  began 
to  speak ! 

Shortly  before  the  Boyne  was  fought,  and  young  Swift  had  begun 
to  make  acquaintance  with  English  court  manners  and  English 
servitude,  in  Sir  William  Temple's  family,  another  Irish  youth 
was  brought  to  learn  his  humanities  at  the  old  school  of  Charter- 
house, near  Smithfield;  to  which  foundation  he  had  been  appointed 
by  James  Duke  of  Ormond,  a  governor  of  the  House,  and  a  patron 
of  the  lad's  family.  The  boy  was  an  orphan,  and  described,  twenty 
years  after,  with  a  sweet  pathos  and  simplicity,  some  of  the  earliest 
recollections  of  a  life  which  was  destined  to  be  chequered  by  a 
strange  variety  of  good  and  evil  fortune. 

I  am  afraid  no  good  report  could  be  given  by  his  masters  and 
ushers  of  that  thick-set,  square -faced,  black-eyed,  soft-hearted 
little  Irish  boy.  He  was  very  idle.  He  was  whipped  deservedly 
a  great  number  of  times.  Though  he  had  very  good  parts  of  his 
own,  he  got  other  boys  to  do  his  lessons  for  him,  and  only  took  just 
as  much  trouble  as  should  enable  him  to  scuffle  through  his  exer- 
cises, and  by  good  fortune  escape  the  flogging-block.  One  hundred 
and  fifty  years  after,  I  have  myself  inspected,  but  only  as  an  ama- 
teur, that  instrument  of  righteous  torture  still  existing,  and  in  occa- 
sional use,  in  a  secluded  private  apartment  of  the  old  Charterhouse 
School;  and  have  no  doubt  it  is  the  very  counterpart,  if  not  the 

10 


STEELE 

ancient  and  interesting  machine  itself,  at  which  poor  Dick  Steele 
submitted  himself  to  the  tormentors. 

Besides  being  very  kind,  lazy,  and  good-natured,  this  boy  went 
invariably  into  debt  with  the  tart -woman;  ran  out  of  bounds,  and 
entered  into  pecuniary,  or  other  promissory,  engagements  with  the 
neighboring  lollipop-venders  and  piemen  —  exhibited  an  early 
fondness  and  capacity  for  drinking  mum  and  sack,  and  borrowed 
from  all  his  comrades  who  had  money  to  lend.  I  have  no  sort  of 
authority  for  the  statements  here  made  of  Steele's  early  life;  but 
if  the  child  is  father  of  the  man,  the  father  of  young  Steele  of  Mer- 
ton,  who  left  Oxford  without  taking  a  degree,  and  entered  the  Life 
Guards  —  the  father  of  Captain  Steele  of  Lucas's  Fusiliers,  who 
got  his  company  through  the  patronage  of  my  Lord  Cutts  —  the 
father  of  Mr.  Steele  the  Commissioner  of  Stamps,  the  editor  of  the 
Gazette,  the  Taller,  and  Spectator,  the  expelled  Member  of  Parlia- 
ment, and  the  author  of  the  "Tender  Husband"  and  the  "Con- 
scious Lovers  " ;  if  man  and  boy  resembled  each  other,  Dick  Steele 
the  schoolboy  must  have  been  one  of  the  most  generous,  good-for- 
nothing,  amiable  little  creatures  that  ever  conjugated  the  verb 
tupto,  I  beat,  tuptomai,  I  am  whipped,  in  any  school  in  Great 
Britain. 

Almost  every  gentleman  who  does  me  the  honor  to  hear  me 
will  remember  that  the  very  greatest  character  which  he  has  seen 
in  the  course  of  his  life,  and  the  person  to  whom  he  has  looked  up 
with  the  greatest  wonder  and  reverence,  was  the  head  boy  at  his 
school.  The  schoolmaster  himself  hardly  inspires  such  an  awe. 
The  head  boy  construes  as  well  as  the  schoolmaster  himself.  When 
he  begins  to  speak  the  hall  is  hushed,  and  every  little  boy  listens. 
He  writes  off  copies  of  Latin  verses  as  melodiously  as  Virgil.  He 
is  good-natured,  and,  his  own  masterpieces  achieved,  pours  out 
other  copies  of  verses  for  other  boys  with  an  astonishing  ease  and 
fluency;  the  idle  ones  only  trembling  lest  they  should  be  discovered 
on  giving  in  their  exercises,  and  whipped  because  their  poems  were 
too  good.  I  have  seen  great  men  in  my  time,  but  never  such  a 
great  one  as  that  head  boy  of  my  childhood:  we  all  thought  he 
must  be  Prime  Minister,  and  I  was  disappointed  on  meeting  him 
in  after  life  to  find  he  was  no  more  than  six  feet  high. 

Dick  Steele,  the  Charterhouse  gownboy,  contracted  such  an 
admiration  in  the  years  of  his  childhood,  and  retained  it  faith- 
fully through  his  life.  Through  the  school  and  through  the  world, 

ii 


STEELE 

whithersoever  his  strange  fortune  led  this  erring,  wayward,  affec- 
tionate creature,  Joseph  Addison  was  always  his  head  boy.  Addi- 
son  wrote  his  exercises.  Addison  did  his  best  themes.  He  ran 
Addison 's  messages:  fagged  for  him  and  blacked  his  shoes:  to  be 
in  Joe's  company  was  Dick's  greatest  pleasure;  and  he  took  a 
sermon  or  a  caning  from  his  monitor  with  the  most  boundless 
reverence,  acquiescence,  and  affection. 

Steele  found  Addison  a  stately  college  Don  at  Oxford,  and 
himself  did  not  make  much  figure  at  this  place.  He  wrote  a 
comedy,  which,  by  the  advice  of  a  friend,  the  humble  fellow  burned 
there;  and  some  verses,  which  I  dare  say  are  as  sublime  as  other 
gentlemen's  composition  at  that  age;  but  being  smitten  with  a 
sudden  love  for  military  glory,  he  threw  up  the  cap  and  gown  for 
the  saddle  and  bridle,  and  rode  privately  in  the  Horse  Guards,  in 
the  Duke  of  Ormond's  troop  —  the  second  —  and  probably,  with 
the  rest  of  the  gentlemen  of  his  troop,  "  all  mounted  on  black  horses 
with  white  feathers  in  their  hats,  and  scarlet  coats  richly  laced," 
marched  by  King  William,  in  Hyde  Park,  in  November,  1699,  and 
a  great  show  of  the  nobility,  besides  twenty  thousand  people,  and 
above  a  thousand  coaches.  "  The  Guards  had  just  got  their  new 
clothes,"  the  London  Post  said:  "they  are  extraordinary  grand, 
and  thought  to  be  the  finest  body  of  horse  in  the  world."  But 
Steele  could  hardly  have  seen  any  actual  service.  He  who  wrote 
about  himself,  his  mother,  his  wife,  his  loves,  his  debts,  his  friends, 
and  the  wine  he  drank,  would  have  told  us  of  his  battles  if  he  had 
seen  any.  His  old  patron,  Ormond,  probably  got  him  his  cornetcy 
in  the  Guards,  from  which  he  was  promoted  to  be  a  captain  in 
Lucas's  Fusiliers,  getting  his  company  through  the  patronage  of 
Lord  Cutts,  whose  secretary  he  was,  and  to  whom  he  dedicated 
his  work  called  the  "  Christian  Hero."  As  for  Dick,  whilst  writing 
this  ardent  devotional  work,  he  was  deep  in  debt,  in  drink,  and  in 
all  the  follies  of  the  town ;  it  is  related  that  all  the  officers  of  Lucas's, 
and  the  gentlemen  of  the  Guards,  laughed  at  Dick.  And  hi  truth 
a  theologian  in  liquor  is  not  a  respectable  object,  and  a  hermit, 
though  he  may  be  out  at  elbows,  must  not  be  in  debt  to  the  tailor. 
Steele  says  of  himself  that  he  was  always  sinning  and  repenting. 
He  beat  his  breast  and  cried  most  piteously  when  he  did  repent : 
but  as  soon  as  crying  had  made  him  thirsty,  he  fell  to  sinning  again. 
In  that  charming  paper  in  the  Tatter,  in  which  he  records  his 
father's  death,  his  mother's  griefs,  his  own  most  solemn  and  tender 

12 


STEELE 

emotions,  he  says  he  is  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of  a  hamper  of 
wine,  "the  same  as  is  to  be  sold  at  Garraway's,  next  week";  upon 
the  receipt  of  which  he  sends  for  three  friends,  and  they  fall  to 
instantly,  "  drinking  two  bottles  apiece,  with  great  benefit  to  them- 
selves, and  not  separating  till  two  o'clock  in  the  morning." 

His  life  was  so.  Jack  the  drawer  was  always  interrupting  it, 
bringing  him  a  bottle  from  the  "Rose,"  or  inviting  him  over  to  a 
bout  there  with  Sir  Plume  and  Mr.  Diver;  and  Dick  wiped  his 
eyes,  which  were  whimpering  over  his  papers,  took  down  his  laced 
hat,  put  on  his  sword  and  wig,  kissed  his  wife  and  children,  told 
them  a  lie  about  pressing  business,  and  went  off  to  the  "Rose" 
to  the  jolly  fellows. 

While  Mr.  Addison  was  abroad,  and  after  he  came  home  in  rather 
a  dismal  way  to  wait  upon  Providence  in  his  shabby  lodging  in  the 
Haymarket,  young  Captain  Steele  was  cutting  a  much  smarter 
figure  than  that  of  his  classical  friend  of  Charterhouse  Cloister 
and  Maudlin  Walk.  Could  not  some  painter  give  an  interview 
between  the  gallant  captain  of  Lucas's,  with  his  hat  cocked,  and 
his  lace,  and  his  face  too,  a  trifle  tarnished  with  drink,  and  that 
poet,  that  philosopher,  pale,  proud,  and  poor,  his  friend  and  moni- 
tor of  school-days,  of  all  days?  How  Dick  must  have  bragged 
about  his  chances  and  his  hopes,  and  the  fine  company  he  kept, 
and  the  charms  of  the  reigning  toasts  and  popular  actresses,  and 
the  number  of  bottles  that  he  and  my  lord  and  some  other  pretty 
fellows  had  cracked  over-night  at  the  "Devil,"  or  the  "Garter!" 
Cannot  one  fancy  Joseph  Addison 's  calm  smile  and  cold  gray 
eyes  following  Dick  for  an  instant,  as  he  struts  down  the  Mall, 
to  dine  with  the  Guard  at  St.  James's,  before  he  turns  with  his 
sober  pace  and  threadbare  suit,  to  walk  back  to  his  lodgings  up  the 
two  pair  of  stairs?  Steele's  name  was  down  for  promotion,  Dick 
always  said  himself,  in  the  glorious,  pious,  and  immortal  William's 
last  table-book.  Jonathan  Swift's  name  had  been  written  there 
by  the  same  hand  too. 

Our  worthy  friend,  the  author  of  the  "Christian  Hero,"  con- 
tinued to  make  no  small  figure  about  town  by  the  use  of  his  wits. 
He  was  appointed  Gazetteer:  he  wrote,  in  1703,  "The  Tender 
Husband,"  his  second  play,  in  which  there  is  some  delightful 
farcical  writing,  and  of  which  he  fondly  owned  in  after-life,  and 
when  Addison  was  no  more,  that  there  were  "many  applauded 
strokes"  from  Addison's  beloved  hand.  Is  it  not  a  pleasant  part- 


STEELE 

nership  to  remember  ?  Can't  one  fancy  Steele  full  of  spirits  and 
youth,  leaving  his  gay  company  to  go  to  Addison's  lodging,  where 
his  friend  sits  in  the  shabby  sitting-room,  quite  serene,  and  cheer- 
ful, and  poor?  In  1704,  Steele  came  on  the  town  with  another 
comedy,  and  behold  it  was  so  moral  and  religious,  as  poor  Dick 
insisted,  —  so  dull  the  town  thought,  —  that  the  "Lying  Lover" 
was  damned. 

Addison's  hour  of  success  now  came,  and  he  was  able  to 
help  our  friend  the  "Christian  Hero"  in  such  a  way,  that,  if 
there  had  been  any  chance  of  keeping  that  poor  tipsy  cham- 
pion upon  his  legs,  his  fortune  was  safe,  and  his  competence  as- 
sured. Steele  procured  the  place  of  Commissioner  of  Stamps:  he 
wrote  so  richly,  so  gracefully  often,  so  kindly  always,  with  such  a 
pleasant  wit  and  easy  frankness,  with  such  a  gush  of  good  spirits 
and  good  humor,  that  bis  early  papers  may  be  compared  to 
Addison's  own,  and  are  to  be  read,  by  a  male  reader  at  least, 
with  quite  an  equal  pleasure. 

After  the  Tatter  in  1711,  the  famous  Spectator  made  its  ap- 
pearance, and  this  was  followed,  at  various  intervals,  by  many 
periodicals  under  the  same  editor  —  the  Guardian  —  the  English- 
man —  the  Lover,  whose  love  was  rather  insipid  —  the  Reader, 
of  whom  the  public  saw  no  more  after  his  second  appearance  — 
the  Theatre,  under  the  pseudonym  of  Sir  John  Edgar,  which 
Steele  wrote  while  Governor  of  the  Royal  Company  of  Comedians, 
to  which  post,  and  to  that  of  Surveyor  of  the  Royal  Stables  at 
Hampton  Court,  and  to  the  Commission  of  the  Peace  for  Middle- 
sex, and  to  the  honor  of  knighthood,  Steele  had  been  preferred 
soon  after  the  accession  of  George  I. ;  whose  cause  honest  Dick  had 
nobly  fought,  through  disgrace,  and  danger,  against  the  most 
formidable  enemies,  against  traitors  and  bullies,  against  Boling- 
broke  and  Swift  in  the  last  reign.  With  the  arrival  of  the  King, 
that  splendid  conspiracy  broke  up ;  and  a  golden  opportunity  came 
to  Dick  Steele,  whose  hand,  alas,  was  too  careless  to  gripe  it. 

Steele  married  twice;  and  outlived  his  places,  his  schemes,  his 
wife,  his  income,  his  health,  and  almost  everything  but  his  kind 
heart.  That  ceased  to  trouble  him  in  1729,  when  he  died,  worn 
out  and  almost  forgotten  by  his  contemporaries,  in  Wales,  where 
he  had  the  remnant  of  a  property. 

Posterity  has  been  kinder  to  this  amiable  creature;  all  women 
especially  are  bound  to  be  grateful  to  Steele,  as  he  was  the  first 

14 


STEELE 

of  our  writers  who  really  seemed  to  admire  and  respect  them. 
Congreve  the  Great,  who  alludes  to  the  low  estimation  in  which 
women  were  held  in  Elizabeth's  time,  as  a  reason  why  the  women 
of  Shakspeare  make  so  small  a  figure  in  the  poet's  dialogues, 
though  he  can  himself  pay  splendid  compliments  to  women,  yet 
looks  on  them  as  mere  instruments  of  gallantry,  and  destined,  like 
the  most  consummate  fortifications,  to  fall,  after  a  certain  time, 
before  the  arts  and  bravery  of  the  besieger,  man.  There  is  a  letter 
of  Swift's,  entitled  "Advice  to  a  very  Young  Married  Lady," 
which  shows  the  Dean's  opinion  of  the  female  society  of  his  day, 
and  that  if  he  despised  man  he  utterly  scorned  women  to.  No 
lady  of  our  time  could  be  treated  by  any  man,  were  he  ever  so 
much  a  wit  or  Dean,  in  such  a  tone  of  insolent  patronage  and 
vulgar  protection.  In  this  performance,  Swift  hardly  take  pains 
to  hide  his  opinion  that  a  woman  is  a  fool:  tells  her  to  read  books, 
as  if  reading  was  a  novel  accomplishment;  and  informs  her  that 
"not  one  gentleman's  daughter  hi  a  thousand  has  been  brought 
to  read  or  understand  her  own  natural  tongue."  Addison  laughs 
at  women  equally;  but,  with  the  gentleness  and  politeness  of  his 
nature,  smiles  at  them  and  watches  them,  as  if  they  were  harmless, 
half-witted,  amusing,  pretty  creatures,  only  made  to  be  man's 
playthings.  It  was  Steele  who  first  began  to  pay  a  manly  homage 
to  their  goodness  and  understanding,  as  well  as  to  their  tenderness 
and  beauty.  In  his  comedies,  the  heroes  do  not  rant  and  rave 
about  the  divine  beauties  of  Gloriana  or  Statira,  as  the  characters 
were  made  to  do  in  the  chivalry  romances  and  the  high-flown 
dramas  just  going  out  of  vogue;  but  Steele  admires  women's 
virtue,  acknowledges  their  sense,  and  adores  their  purity  and 
beauty,  with  an  ardor  and  strength  which  should  win  the  good-will 
of  all  women  to  their  hearty  and  respectful  champion.  It  is  this 
ardor,  this  respect,  this  manliness,  which  makes  his  comedies  so 
pleasant  and  their  heroes  such  fine  gentlemen.  He  paid  the  finest 
compliment  to  a  woman  that  perhaps  ever  was  offered.  Of  one 
woman,  whom  Congreve  had  also  admired  and  celebrated,  Steele 
says,  that  "to  have  loved  her  was  a  liberal  education."  "How 
often,"  he  says,  dedicating  a  volume  to  his  wife,  "how  often  has 
your  tenderness  removed  pain  from  my  sick  head,  how  often  anguish 
from  my  afflicted  heart!  If  there  are  such  beings  as  guardian 
angels,  they  are  thus  employed.  I  cannot  believe  one  of  them  to 
be  more  good  in  inclination,  or  more  more  charming  in  form  than 

15 


STEELE 

my  wife."  His  breast  seems  to  warm  and  his  eyes  to  kindle  when 
he  meets  with  a  good  and  beautiful  woman,  and  it  is  with  his  heart 
as  well  as  with  his  hat  that  he  salutes  her.  About  children,  and 
all  that  relates  to  home,  he  is  not  less  tender,  and  more  than  once 
speaks  in  apology  of  what  he  calls  his  softness.  He  would  have 
been  nothing  without  that  delightful  weakness.  It  is  that  which 
gives  his  works  their  worth  and  his  style  its  charm.  It,  like  his 
life,  is  full  of  faults  and  careless  blunders;  and  redeemed,  like  that, 
by  his  sweet  and  compassionate  nature. 

We  possess  of  poor  Steele's  wild  and  chequered  life  some  of  the 
most  curious  memoranda  that  ever  were  left  of  a  man's  biography.* 

*  The  Correspondence  of  Steele  passed  after  his  death  into  the  possession 
of  his  daughter  Elizabeth,  by  his  second  wife,  Miss  Scurlock,  of  Carmarthen- 
shire. She  married  the  Hon.  John,  afterwards  third  Lord  Trevor.  At  her 
death,  part  of  the  letters  passed  to  Mr.  Thomas,  a  grandson  of  a  natural 
daughter  of  Steele's;  and  part  to  Lady  Trevor's  next  of  kin,  Mr.  Scurlock. 
They  were  published  by  the  learned  Nichols  —  from  whose  later  edition  of 
them,  in  1809,  our  specimens  are  quoted. 
Here  we  have  him,  in  his  courtship  —  which  was  not  a  very  long  one :  — 

"To  MRS.  SCURLOCK. 

"Aug.  30,  1707. 

"MADAM,  —  I  beg  pardon  that  my  paper  is  not  finer,  but  I  am  forced  to 
write  from  a  coffee-house,  where  I  am  attending  about  business.  There  is  a 
dirty  crowd  of  busy  faces  all  around  me,  talking  of  money;  while  all  my  am- 
bition, all  my  wealth,  is  love!  Love  which  animates  my  heart,  sweetens  my 
humor,  enlarges  my  soul,  and  affects  every  action  of  my  life.  It  is  to  my 
lovely  charmer  I  owe,  that  many  noble  ideas  are  continually  affixed  to  my 
words  and  actions;  it  is  the  natural  effect  of  that  generous  passion  to  create  in 
the  admirer  some  similitude  of  the  object  admired.  Thus,  my  dear,  am  I 
every  day  to  improve  from  so  sweet  a  companion.  Look  up,  my  fair  one,  to 
that  Heaven  which  made  thee  such;  and  join  with  me  to  implore  its  influence 
on  our  tender  innocent  hours,  and  beseech  the  Author  of  love  to  bless  the  rites 
He  has  ordained  —  and  mingle  with  our  happiness  a  just  sense  of  our  transient 
condition,  and  a  resignation  to  His  will,  which  only  can  regulate  our  minds  to 
a  steady  endeavour  to  please  Him  and  each  other. 

"  I  am  for  ever  your  faithful  servant, 

"RICH.  STEELE." 

Some  few  hours  afterwards,  apparently,  Mistress  Scurlock  received  the 
next  one  —  obviously  written  later  in  the  day:  — 

"Saturday  night  (Aug.  30,  1707). 

"DEAR,  LOVELY  MRS.  SCURLOCK,  —  I  have  been  in  very  good  company, 
where  your  health,  under  the  character  of  the  woman  I  loved  best,  has  been 

16 


STEELE 

Most  men's  letters,  from  Cicero  down  to  Walpole,  or  down  to  the 
great  men  of  our  own  time,  if  you  will,  are  doctored  compositions, 
and  written  with  an  eye  suspicious  towards  posterity.  That  dedi- 
cation of  Steele's  to  his  wife  is  an  artificial  performance,  possibly; 
at  least,  it  is  written  with  that  degree  of  artifice  which  an  orator 
uses  in  arranging  a  statement  for  the  House,  or  a  poet  employs  in 
preparing  a  sentiment  in  verse  or  for  the  stage.  But  there  are 
some  400  letters  of  Dick  Steele's  to  his  wife,  which  that  thrifty 
woman  preserved  accurately,  and  which  could  have  been  written 
but  for  her  and  her  alone.  They  contain  details  of  the  business, 
pleasures,  quarrels,  reconciliations  of  the  pair;  they  have  all  the 

often  drunk;  so  that  I  may  say  that  I  am  dead  drunk  for  your  sake;  which  is 
more  than  I  die  for  you. 

RICH.  STEELE." 
"To  MRS.  SCURLOCK. 

"Sept.  i,  1707. 

"  MADAM,  —  It  is  the  hardest  thing  in  the  world  to  be  in  love,  and  yet 
attend  business.  As  for  me,  all  who  speak  to  me  find  me  out,  and  I  must 
lock  myself  up,  or  other  people  will  do  it  for  me. 

"A  gentleman  asked  me  this  morning,  'What  news  from  Lisbon?"  and  I 
answered,  'She  is  exquisitely  handsome.'  Another  desired  to  know  'when 
I  had  last  been  at  Hampton  Court?'  I  replied,  'It  will  be  on  Tuesday  come 
se'nnight.'  Pr'ythee  allow  me  at  least  to  kiss  your  hand  before  that  day, 
that  my  mind  may  be  in  some  composure.  O  Love! 

'A  thousand  torments  dwell  about  thee, 
Yet  who  could  live,  to  live  without  thee?' 

"Methinks  I  could  write  a  volume  to  you;  but  all  the  language  on  earth 
would  fail  in  saying  how  much,  and  with  what  disinterested  passion, 

"I  am  ever  yours, 

"RICH.  STEELE." 

Two  days  after  this,  he  is  found  expounding  his  circumstances  and  pros- 
pects to  the  young  lady's  mamma.  He  dates  from  "  Lord  Sunderland's  office, 
Whitehall";  and  states  his  clear  income  at  i,o25/.  per  annum.  "  I  promise 
myself,"  says  he,  "the  pleasure  of  an  industrious  and  virtuous  life,  in  studying 
to  do  things  agreeable  to  you." 

They  were  married,  according  to  the  most  probable  conjectures,  about  the 
7th  Sept.  There  are  traces  of  a  tiff  about  the  middle  of  the  next  month;  she 
being  prudish  and  fidgety,  as  he  was  impassioned  and  reckless.  General  prog- 
ress, however,  may  be  seen  from  the  following  notes.  The  "house  in  Bury 
Street,  St.  James's"  was  now  taken. 

"To  MRS.  STEELE.. 

"Oct.    16,    1707. 
"DEAREST  BEING  ON  EARTH,  —  Pardon  me  if  you  do  not  see  me  till  eleven 


STEELE 

genuineness  of  conversations ;  they  are  as  artless  as  a  child's  prattle, 
and  as  confidential  as  a  curtain -lecture.  Some  are  written  from 
the  printing-office,  where  he  is  waiting  for  the  proof-sheets  of  his 
Gazette,  or  his  Tatter;  some  are  written  from  the  tavern,  whence 
he  promises  to  come  to  his  wife  "within  a  pint  of  wine,"  and  where 
he  has  given  a  rendezvous  to  a  friend,  or  a  money-lender:  some 
are  composed  in  a  high  state  of  vinous  excitement,  when  his  head 
is  flustered  with  burgundy,  and  his  heart  abounds  with  amorous 
warmth  for  his  darling  Prue:  some  are  under  the  influence  of  the 
dismal  headache  and  repentance  next  morning:  some,  alas,  are 
from  the  lock-up  house,  where  the  lawyers  have  impounded  him, 

o'clock,  having  met  a  school-fellow  from  India,  by  whom  I  am  to  be  informed 
on  things  this  night  which  expressly  concern  your  obedient  husband, 

RICH.  STEELE." 

"To  MRS.  STEELE. 

"Eight  o'clock,  FOUNTAIN  TAVERN, 
Oct.  22,  1707. 

"Mv  DEAR,  —  I  beg  of  you  not  to  be  uneasy;  for  I  have  done  a  great  deal 
of  business  to-day  very  successfully,  and  wait  an  hour  or  two  about  my 
Gazette." 

"Dec.  22,  1707. 

"Mv  DEAR,  DEAR  WIFE,  —  I  write  to  let  you  know  I  do  not  come  home 
to  dinner,  being  obliged  to  attend  some  business  abroad,  of  which  I  shall  give 
you  an  account  (when  I  see  you  in  the  evening),  as  becomes  your  dutiful  and 
obedient  husband." 

"DEVIL  TAVERN,  TEMPLE  BAR, 
Jan.  3,  1707-8. 

"  DEAR  PRTJE,  —  I  have  partly  succeeded  in  my  business  to-day,  and 
inclose  two  guineas  as  earnest  of  more.  Dear  Prue,  I  cannot  come  home 
to  dinner.  I  languish  for  your  welfare,  and  will  never  be  a  moment  care- 
less more.  Your  faithful  husband,"  &c. 

"Jan.  14,  1707-8. 

"DEAR  WIFE,  —  Mr.  Edgecombe,  Ned  Ask,  and  Mr.  Lumley  have  desired 
me  to  sit  an  hour  with  them  at  the  'George,'  in  Pall  Mall,  for  which  I  desire 
your  patience  till  twelve  o'clock,  and  that  you  will  go  to  bed,"  &c. 

"GRAY'S  INN,  Feb.  3,  1708. 

"DEAR  PRUE,  —  If  the  man  who  has  my  shoemaker's  bill  calls,  let  him 
be  answered  that  I  shall  call  on  him  as  I  come  home.  I  stay  here  in  order  to 

18 


STEELE 

and  where  he  is  waiting  for  bail.  You  trace  many  years  of  the  poor 
fellow's  career  in  these  letters.  In  September,  1707,  from  which 
day  she  began  to  save  the  letters,  he  married  the  beautiful  Mistress 
Scurlock.  You  have  his  passionate  protestations  to  the  lady; 
his  respectful  proposals  to  her  mamma ;  his  private  prayer  to  Heaven 
when  the  union  so  ardently  desired  was  completed;  his  fond  pro- 
fessions of  contrition  and  promises  of  amendment,  when,  immedi- 
ately after  his  marriage  there  began  to  be  just  cause  for  the  one 
and  need  for  the  other. 

Captain  Steele  took  a  house  for  his  lady  upon  their  marriage, 
"the  third  door  from  Germain  Street,  left  hand  of  Berry  Street," 

get  Jonson  to  discount  a  bill  for  me,  and  shall  dine  with  him  for  that  end. 
He  is  expected  at  home  every  minute. 

"Your  most  humble,  obedient  servant,"  &c. 

"TENNIS-COURT,  COFFEE-HOUSE,  May  5,  1708. 

"  DEAR  WIFE,  —  I  hope  I  have  done  this  day  what  will  be  pleasing  to 
you;  in  the  meantime  shall  lie  this  night  at  a  baker's,  one  Leg,  over  against 
the  'Devil  Tavern,'  at  Charing  Cross.  I  shall  be  able  to  confront  the  fools 
who  wish  me  uneasy,  and  shall  have  the  satisfaction  to  see  thee  cheerful 
and  at  ease. 

"If  the  printer's  boy  be  at  home,  send  him  hither;  and  let  Mrs.  Todd 
send  by  the  boy  my  night-gown,  slippers,  and  clean  linen.  You  shall  hear 
from  me  early  in  the  morning,"  &c. 

Dozens  of  similar  letters  follow,  with  occasional  guineas,  little  parcels 
of  tea,  or  walnuts,  &c.  In  1709  the  Tatter  made  its  appearance.  The  fol- 
lowing curious  note  dates  April  yth,  1710:  — 

"  I  inclose  to  you  ['  Dear  Prue ']  a  receipt  for  the  saucepan  and  spoon,  and 
a  note  of  23^.  of  Lewis's,  which  will  make  up  the  50^.  I  promised  for  your  en- 
suing occasions. 

"I  know  no  happiness  in  this  life  in  any  degree  comparable  to  the  pleasure 
I  have  in  your  person  and  society.  I  only  beg  of  you  to  add  to  your  other 
charms  a  fearfulness  to  see  a  man  that  loves  you  in  pain  and  uneasiness,  to 
make  me  as  happy  as  it  is  possible  to  be  in  this  life.  Rising  a  little  in  a  morn- 
ing, and  being  disposed  to  a  cheerfulness  ....  would  not  be  amiss." 

In  another,  he  is  found  excusing  his  coming  home,  being  "invited  to  supper 
to  Mr.  Boyle's."  "Dear  Prue,"  he  says  on  this  occasion,  "do  not  send  after 
me,  for  I  shall  be  ridiculous." 

19 


STEELE 

and  the  next  year  he  presented  his  wife  with  a  country-house  at 
Hampton.  It  appears  she  had  a  chariot  and  pair,  and  sometimes 
four  horses:  he  himself  enjoyed  a  little  horse  for  his  own  riding. 
He  paid,  or  promised  to  pay,  his  barber  fifty  pounds  a  year,  and 
always  went  abroad  in  a  laced^  coat  and  a  large  black  buckled  peri- 
wig, that  must  have  cost  somebody  fifty  guineas.  He  was  rather 
a  well-to-do  gentleman,  Captain  Steele,  with  the  proceeds  of  his 
estates  in  Barbadoes  (left  to  him  by  his  first  wife),  his  incoine  as 
a  writer  of  the  Gazette,  and  his  office  of  gentleman  waiter  to  his 
Royal  Highness  Prince  George.  His  second  wife  brought  him  a 
fortune  too.  But  it  is  melancholy  to  relate,  that  with  these  houses 
and  chariots  and  horses  and  income,  the  Captain  was  constantly 
in  want  of  money,  for  which  his  beloved  bride  was  asking  as  con- 
stantly. In  the  course  of  a  few  pages  we  begin  to  find  the  shoe- 
maker calling  for  money,  and  some  directions  from  the  Captain, 
who  has  not  thirty  pounds  to  spare.  He  sends  his  wife,"  the  beauti- 
fullest  object  in  the  world,"  as  he  calls  her,  and  evidently  in  reply 
to.  applications  of  her  own,  which  have  gone  the  way  of  all  waste 
paper,  and  lighted  Dick's  pipes,  which  were  smoked  a  hundred 
and  forty  years  ago  —  he  sends  his  wife  now  a  guinea,  then  a  half- 
guinea,  then  a  couple  of  guineas,  then  half  a  pound  of  tea;  and 
again  no  money  and  no  tea  at  all,  but  a  promise  that  his  darling 
Prue  shall  have  some  in  a  day  or  two:  or  a  request,  perhaps, 
that  she  will  send  over  his  night-gown  and  shaving-plate  to  the 
temporary  lodging  where  the  nomadic  Captain  is  lying,  hidden 
from  the  bailiffs.  Oh!  that  a  Christian  hero  and  late  Captain  in 
Lucas's  should  be  afraid  of  a  dirty  sheriff's  officer!  That  the  pink 
and  pride  of  chivalry  should  turn  pale  before  a  writ!  It  stands  to 
record  in  poor  Dick's  own  handwriting  —  the  queer  collection  is 
preserved  at  the  British  Museum  to  this  present  day  —  that  the 
rent  of  the  nuptial  house  in  Jermyn  Street,  sacred  to  unutterable 
tenderness  and  Prue,  and  three  doors  from  Bury  Street,  was  not  paid 
until  after  the  landlord  had  put  in  an  execution  on  Captain  Steele's 
furniture.  Addison  sold  the  house  and  furniture  at  Hampton,  and, 
after  deducting  the  sum  in  which  his  incorrigible  friend  was  indebted 
to  him,  handed  over  the  residue  of  the  proceeds  of  the  sale  to  poor 
Dick,  who  wasn't  in  the  least  angry  at  Addison's  summary  proceed- 
ing, and  I  dare  say  was  very  glad  of  any  sale  or  execution,  the  result 
of  which  was  to  give  him  a  little  ready  money.  Having  a  small 
house  in  Jermyn  Street  for  which  he  couldn't  pay,  and  a  country- 

20 


STEELE 

house  at  Hampton  on  which  he  had  borrowed  money,  nothing  must 
content  Captain  Dick  but  the  taking,  in  1712,  a  much  finer,  larger, 
and  grander  house,  in  Bloomsbury  Square;  where  his  unhappy 
landlord  got  no  better  satisfaction  than  his  friend  in  St.  James's, 
and  where  it  is  recorded  that  Dick,  giving  a  grand  entertainment, 
had  a  half-dozen  queer -looking  fellows  in  livery  to  wait  upon  his 
noble  guests,  and  confessed  that  his  servants  were  bailiffs  to  a  man. 
"  I  fared  like  a  distressed  prince,"  the  kindly  prodigal  writes,  gener- 
ously complimenting  Addison  for  his  assistance  in  the  Taller, — "I 
fared  like  a  distressed  prince,  who  calls  in  a  powerful  neighbor  to 
his  aid.  I  was  undone  by  my  auxiliary ;  when  I  had  once  called  him 
in,  I  could  not  subsist  without  dependence  on  him."  Poor,  needy 
Prince  of  Bloomsbury!  think  of  him  in  his  palace,  with  his  allies 
from  Chancery  Lane  ominously  guarding  him. 

All  sorts  of  stories  are  told  indicative  of  his  recklessness  and  his 
good  humor.  One  narrated  by  Dr.  Hoadly  is  exceedingly  charac- 
teristic; it  shows  the  life  of  the  time:  and  our  poor  friend  very  weak, 
but  very  kind  both  in  and  out  of  his  cups. 

"My  father,"  says  Dr.  John  Hoadly,  the  Bishop's  son,  "when 
Bishop  of  Bangor,  was,  by  invitation,  present  at  one  of  the  Whig 
meetings,  held  at  the  'Trumpet,'  in  Shire  Lane,  when  Sir  Richard, 
in  his  zeal,  rather  exposed  himself,  having  the  double  duty  of  the 
day  upon  him,  as  well  to  celebrate  the  immortal  memory  of  King 
William,  it  being  the  4th  November,  as  to  drink  his  friend  Addison 
up  to  conversation  pitch,  whose  phlegmatic  constitution  was  hardly 
warmed  for  society  by  that  time.  Steele  was  not  fit  for  it.  Two 
remarkable  circumstances  happened.  John  Sly,  the  hatter  of 
facetious  memory,  was  in  the  house;  and  John,  pretty  mellow, 
took  it  into  his  head  to  come  into  the  company  on  his  knees,  with  a 
tankard  of  ale  in  his  hand  to  drink  off  to  the  immortal  memory,  and 
to  return  in  the  same  manner.  Steele,  sitting  next  my  father, 
whispered  him  —  Do  laugh.  It  is  humanity  to  laugh.  Sir  Richard, 
in  the  evening,  being  too  much  in  the  same  condition,  was  put  into  a 
chair,  and  sent  home.  Nothing  would  serve  him  but  being  carried 
to  the  Bishop  of  Bangor's,  late  as  it  was.  However,  the  chairmen 
carried  him  home,  and  got  him  up  stairs,  when  his  great  complai- 
sance would  wait  on  them  down  stairs,  which  he  did,  and  then  was 
got  quietly  to  bed." 

There  is  another  amusing  story  which,  I  believe,  that  renowned 
collector,  Mr.  Joseph  Miller,  or  his  successors,  have  incorporated 

21 


STEELE 

into  their  work.  Sir  Richard  Steele,  at  a  time  when  he  was  much 
occupied  with  theatrical  affairs,  built  himself  a  pretty  private 
theatre,  and,  before  it  was  opened  to  his  friends  and  guests,  was 
anxious  to  try  whether  the  hall  was  well  adapted  for  hearing.  Ac- 
cordingly he  placed  himself  in  the  most  remote  part  of  the  gallery, 
and  begged  the  carpenter  who  had  built  the  house  to  speak  up  from 
the  stage.  The  man  at  first  said  that  he  was  unaccustomed  to 
public  speaking,  and  did  not  know  what  to  say  to  his  honor;  but 
the  good-natured  knight  called  out  to  him  to  say  whatever  was  upper- 
most; and,  after  a  moment,  the  carpenter  began,  in  a  voice  per- 
fectly audible:  "Sir  Richard  Steele!"  he  said,  "for  three  months 
past  me  and  my  men  has  been  a  working  in  this  theatre,  and  we've 
never  seen  the  color  of  your  honor's  money :  we  will  be  very  much 
obliged  if  you'll  pay  it  directly,  for  until  you  do  we  won't  drive  in 
another  nail."  Sir  Richard  said  that  his  friend's  elocution  was 
perfect,  but  that  he  didn't  like  his  subject  much. 

The  great  charm  of  Steele 's  writing  is  its  naturalness.  He  wrote 
so  quickly  and  carelessly,  that  he  was  forced  to  make  the  reader  his 
confidant,  and  had  not  the  time  to  deceive  him.  He  had  a  small 
share  of  book-learning,  but  a  vast  acquaintance  with  the  world. 
He  had  known  men  and  taverns.  He  had  lived  with  gownsmen, 
with  troopers,  with  gentlemen  ushers  of  the  Court,  with  men  and 
women  of  fashion ;  with  authors  and  wits,  with  the  inmates  of  the 
spunging-houses,  and  with  the  frequenters  of  all  the  clubs  and  coffee- 
houses in  the  town.  He  was  liked  in  all  company  because  he  liked 
it;  and  you  like  to  see  his  enjoyment  as  you  like  to  see  the  glee  of  a 
boxful  of  children  at  the  pantomime.  He  was  not  of  those  lonely 
ones  of  the  earth  whose  greatness  obliged  them  to  be  solitary;  on 
the  contrary,  he  admired,  I  think,  more  than  any  man  who  ever 
wrote;  and  full  of  hearty  applause  and  sympathy,  wins  upon  you 
by  calling  you  to  share  his  delight  and  good  humor.  His  laugh 
rings  through  the  whole  house.  He  must  have  been  invaluable  at 
a  tragedy,  and  have  cried  as  much  as  the  most  tender  young  lady  in 
the  boxes.  He  has  a  relish  for  beauty  and  goodness  wherever  he 
meets  it.  He  admired  Shakspeare  affectionately,  and  more  than 
any  man  of  his  time;  and,  according  to  his  generous  expansive 
nature,  called  upon  all  his  company  to  like  what  he  liked  himself. 
He  did  not  damn  with  faint  praise:  he  was  hi  the  world  and  of  it; 
and  his  enjoyment  of  life  presents  the  strangest  contrast  to  Swift's 


22 


STEELE 

savage  indignation  and  Addison's  lonely  serenity.*    Permit  me  to 
read  to  you  a  passage  from  each  writer,  curiously  indicative  of  his 

*  Here  we  have  some  of  his  later  letters:  — 
"To  LADY  STEELE. 

"HAMPTON  COURT,  March  16,  1716-17. 

"DEAR  PRUE, —  If  you  have  written  anything  to  me  which  I  should 
have  received  last  night,  I  beg  your  pardon  that  I  cannot  answer  till  the  next 
post  ....  Your  son  at  the  present  writing  is  mighty  well  employed  in  tum- 
bling on  the  floor  of  the  room  and  sweeping  the  sand  with  a  feather.  He  grows 
a  most  delightful  child,  and  very  full  of  play  and  spirit.  He  is  also  a  very  great 
scholar:  he  can  read  his  primer;  and  I  have  brought  down  my  Virgil.  He 
makes  most  shrewd  remarks  about  the  pictures.  We  are  very  intimate  friends 
and  playfellows.  He  begins  to  be  very  ragged;  and  I  hope  I  shall  be  pardoned 
if  I  equip  him  with  new  clothes  and  frocks,  or  what  Mrs.  Evans  and  I  shall 
think  for  his  service." 

"To  LADY  STEELE. 

[UNDATED.} 

"You  tell  me  you  want  a  little  flattery  from  me.  I  assure  you  I  know 
no  one  who  deserves  so  much  commendation  as  yourself,  and  to  whom  saying 
the  best  things  would  be  so  little  like  flattery.  The  thing  speaks  for  itself, 
considering  you  as  a  very  handsome  woman  that  loves  retirement  —  one  who 
does  not  want  wit,  and  yet  is  extremely  sincere;  and  so  I  could  go  through  all 
the  vices  which  attend  the  good  qualities  of  other  people,  of  which  you  are 
exempt.  But,  indeed,  though  you  have  every  perfection,  you  have  an  extrava- 
gant fault,  which  almost  frustrates  the  good  in  you  to  me;  and  that  is,  that  you 
do  not  love  to  dress,  to  appear,  to  shine  out,  even  at  my  request,  and  to  make 
me  proud  of  you,  or  rather  to  indulge  the  pride  I  have  that  you  are  mine.  .  .  . 
"Your  most  affectionate,  obsequious  husband, 

"RICHARD  STEELE. 
"A  quarter  of  Molly's  schooling  is  paid.     The  children  are  perfectly  well." 

"To  LADY  STEELE. 

"March  26,  1717. 

"MY  DEAREST  PRUE,  —  I  have  received  yours,  wherein  you  give  me 
the  sensible  affliction  of  telling  me  enow  of  the  continual  pain  in  your  head. 
....  When  I  lay  in  your  place,  and  on  your  pillow,  I  assure  you  I  fell  into 
tears  last  night,  to  think  that  my  charming  little  insolent  might  be  then  awake 
and  in  pain;  and  took  it  to  be  a  sin  to  go  to  sleep. 

"For  this  tender  passion  towards  you,  I  must  be  contented  that  your 
Prueship  will  condescend  to  call  yourself  my  well-wisher " 

At  the  time  when  the  above  later  letters  were  written,  Lady  Steele  was  in 
Wales,  looking  after  her  estate  there  Steele,  about  this  time,  was  much  oc- 
cupied with  a  project  for  conveying  fish  alive,  by  which,  as  he  constantly 
assures  his  wife,  he  firmly  believed  he  should  make  his  fortune.  It  did  not 
succeed,  however. 

Lady  Steele  died  in  December  of  the  succeeding  year.  She  lies  buried  in 
Westminster  Abbey. 

23 


STEELE 

peculiar  humor:  the  subject  is  the  same,  and  the  mood  the  very- 
gravest.  We  have  said  that  upon  all  the  actions  of  man,  the  most 
trifling  and  the  most  solemn,  the  humorist  takes  upon  himself  to 
comment.  All  readers  of  our  old  masters  know  the  terrible  lines  of 
Swift,  in  which  he  hints  at  his  philosophy  and  describes  the  end  of 
mankind:  — 

"  Amazed,  confused,  its  fate  unknown, 

The  world  stood  trembling  at  Jove's  throne; 
While  each  pale  sinner  hung  his  head, 
Jove,  nodding,  shook  the  heavens  and  said: 

'Offending  race  of  human  kind, 
By  nature,  reason,  learning,  blind; 
You  who  through  frailty  stepped  aside, 
And  you  who  never  err'd  through  pride; 
You  who  in  different  sects  were  shamm'd, 
And  come  to  see  each  other  damn'd; 
(So  some  folk  told  you,  but  they  knew 
No  more  of  Jove's  designs  than  you;) 
The  world's  mad  business  now  is  o'er, 
And  I  resent  your  freaks  no  more; 
7  to  such  blockheads  set  my  wit, 
I  damn  such  fools  —  go,  go,  you're  bit!'" 

Addison,  speaking  on  the  very  same  theme,  but  with  how  differ- 
ent a  voice,  says,  in  his  famous  paper  on  Westminster  Abbey  (Spec- 
tator, No.  26):  —  "For  my  own  part,  though  I  am  always  serious, 
I  do  not  know  what  it  is  to  be  melancholy,  and  can  therefore  take  a 
view  of  nature  in  her  deep  and  solemn  scenes  with  the  same  pleas- 
ure as  in  her  most  gay  and  delightful  ones.  When  I  look  upon  the 
tombs  of  the  great,  every  emotion  of  envy  dies  within  me;  when  I 
read  the  epitaphs  of  the  beautiful,  every  inordinate  desire  goes  out ; 
when  I  meet  with  the  grief  of  parents  on  a  tombstone,  my  heart 
melts  with  compassion ;  when  I  see  the  tomb  of  the  parents  them- 
selves, I  consider  the  vanity  of  grieving  for  those  we  must  quickly 
follow."  (I  have  owned  that  I  do  not  think  Addison's  heart  melted 
very  much,  or  that  he  indulged  very  inordinately  in  the  "  vanity  of 
grieving.")  "When,"  he  goes  on,  "when  I  see  kings  lying  by  those 
who  deposed  them:  when  I  consider  rival  wits  placed  side  by  side, 
or  the  holy  men  that  divided  the  world  with  their  contests  and  dis- 
putes, —  I  reflect  with  sorrow  and  astonishment  on  the  little  com- 
petitions, factions,  and  debates  of  mankind.  And,  when  I  read 
the  several  dates  on  the  tombs  of  some  that  died  yesterday  and 

24 


STEELE 

some  600  years  ago,  I  consider  that  Great  Day  when  we  shall  all  of 
us  be  contemporaries,  and  make  our  appearance  together." 

Our  third  humorist  comes  to  speak  upon  the  same  subject.  You 
will  have  observed  in  the  previous  extracts  the  characteristic  humor 
of  each  writer  —  the  subject  and  the  contrast  —  the  fact  of  Death, 
and  the  play  of  individual  thought,  by  which  each  comments  on  it, 
and  now  hear  the  third  writer  —  death,  sorrow,  and  the  grave  being 
for  the  moment  also  his  theme.  "  The  first  sense  of  sorrow  I  ever 
knew,"  Steele  says  in  the  Taller,  "was  upon  the  death  of  my  father, 
at  which  time  I  was  not  quite  five  years  of  age:  but  was  rather 
amazed  at  what  all  the  house  meant,  than  possessed  of  a  real  under- 
standing why  nobody  would  play  with  us.  I  remember  I  went 
into  the  room  where  his  body  lay,  and  my  mother  sat  weeping 
alone  by  it.  I  had  my  battledore  in  my  hand,  and  fell  a  beating  the 
coffin,  and  calling  papa;  for,  I  know  not  how,  I  had  some  idea  that 
he  was  locked  up  there.  My  mother  caught  me  in  her  arms,  and, 
transported  beyond  all  patience  of  the  silent  grief  she  was  before  in, 
she  almost  smothered  me  in  her  embraces,  and  told  me  in  a  flood  of 
tears,  '  Papa  could  not  hear  me,  and  would  play  with  me  no  more : 
for  they  were  going  to  put  him  under  ground,  whence  he  would  never 
come  to  us  again.'  She  was  a  very  beautiful  woman,  of  a  noble 
spirit,  and  there  was  a  dignity  in  her  grief  amidst  all  the  wildness 
of  her  transport,  which  methought  struck  me  with  an  instinct  of 
sorrow  that,  before  I  was  sensible  what  it  was  to  grieve,  seized  my 
very  soul,  and  has  made  pity  the  weakness  of  my  heart  ever  since." 

Can  there  be  three  more  characteristic  moods  of  minds  and  men  ? 
"Fools,  do  you  know  anything  of  this  mystery?"  says  Swift,  stamp- 
ing on  a  grave,  and  carrying  his  scorn  for  mankind  actually  beyond 
it.  "Miserable,  purblind  wretches,  how  dare  you  to  pretend  to 
comprehend  the  Inscrutable,  and  how  can  your  dim  eyes  pierce  the 
unfathomable  depths  of  yonder  boundless  heaven?"  Addison,in 
a  much  kinder  language  and  gentler  voice,  utters  much  the  same 
sentiment:  and  speaks  of  the  rivalry  of  wits,  and  the  contests  of 
holy  men,  with  the  same  sceptic  placidity.  "Look  what  a  little 
vain  dust  we  are,"  he  says,  smiling  over  the  tombstones;  and  catch- 
ing, as  is  his  wont,  quite  a  divine  effulgence  as  he  looks  heavenward, 
he  speaks,  in  words  of  inspiration  almost,  of  "the  Great  Day, 
when  we  shall  all  of  us  be  contemporaries,  and  make  our  appear- 
ance together." 

The  third,  whose  theme  is  death,  too,  and  who  will  speak  his 

25 


STEELE 

word  of  moral  as  Heaven  teaches  him,  leads  you  up  to  his  father's 
coffin,  and  shows  you  his  beautiful  mother  weeping,  and  himself  an 
unconscious  little  boy  wondering  at  her  side.  His  own  natural 
tears  flow  as  he  takes  your  hand  and  confidingly  asks  your  sym- 
pathy. "See  how  good  and  innocent  and  beautiful  women  are," 
he  says;  "how  tender  little  children!  Let  us  love  these  and  one 
another,  brother —  God  knows  we  have  need  of  love  and  pardon." 
So  it  is  each  man  looks  with  his  own  eyes,  speaks  with  his  own 
voice,  and  prays  his  own  prayer. 

When  Steele  asks  your  sympathy  for  the  actors  in  that  charming 
scene  of  Love  and  Grief  and  Death,  who  can  refuse  it  ?  One  yields 
to  it  as  to  the  frank  advance  of  a  child,  or  to  the  appeal  of  a  woman. 
A  man  is  seldom  more  manly  than  when  he  is  what  you  call  un- 
manned—  the  source  of  his  emotion  is  championship,  pity,  and 
courage;  the  instinctive  desire  to  cherish  those  who  are  innocent 
and  unhappy,  and  defend  those  who  are  tender  and  weak.  If 
Steele  is  not  our  friend  he  is  nothing.  He  is  by  no  means  the  most 
brilliant  of  wits  nor  the  deepest  of  thinkers:  but  he  is  our  friend; 
we  love  him,  as  children  love  their  love  with  an  A,  because  he  is 
amiable.  Who  likes  a  man  best  because  he  is  the  cleverest  or  the 
wisest  of  mankind;  or  a  woman  because  she  is  the  most  virtuous, 
or  talks  French,  or  plays  the  piano  better  than  the  rest  of  her  sex  ? 
I  own  to  liking  Dick  Steele  the  man,  and  Dick  Steele  the  author, 
much  better  than  much  better  men  and  much  better  authors. 

The  misfortune  regarding  Steele  is,  that  most  part  of  the  com- 
pany here  present  must  take  his  amiability  upon  hearsay,  and  cer- 
tainly can't  make  his  intimate  acquaintance.  Not  that  Steele 
was  worse  than  his  time;  on  the  contrary,  a  far  better,  truer,  and 
higher-hearted  man  than  most  who  lived  in  it.  But  things  were 
done  in  that  society,  and  names  were  named,  which  would  make 
you  shudder  now.  What  would  be  the  sensation  of  a  polite  youth 
of  the  present  day,  if  at  a  ball  he  saw  the  young  object  of  his  affec- 
tions taking  a  box  out  of  her  pocket  and  a  pinch  of  snuff;  or  if  at 
dinner,  by  the  charmer's  side,  she  deliberately  put  her  knife  into 
her  mouth?  If  she  cut  her  mother's  throat  with  it,  mamma  would 
scarcely  be  more  shocked.  I  allude  to  these  peculiarities  of  bygone 
times  as  an  excuse  for  my  favorite,  Steele,  who  was  not  worse,  and 
often  much  more  delicate  than  his  neighbors. 

Theie  exists  a  curious  document  descriptive  of  the  manners  of 
the  last  age,  which  describes  most  minutely  the  amusements  and 

26 


STEELE 

occupations  of  persons  of  fashion  in  London  at  the  time  of  which 
we  are  speaking;  the  time  of  Swift,  and  Addison,  and  Steele. 

When  Lord  Sparkish,  Tom  Neverout,  and  Colonel  Alwit,  the 
immortal  personages  of  Swift's  polite  conversation,  came  to  break- 
fast with  my  Lady  Smart,  at  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  my 
Lord  Smart  was  absent  at  the  leve"e.  His  lordship  was  at  home 
to  dinner  at  three  o'clock  to  receive  his  guests;  and  we  may  sit 
down  to  this  meal,  like  the  Barmecide's,  and  see  the  fops  of  the 
last  century  before  us.  Seven  of  them  sat  down  at  dinner,  and 
were  joined  by  a  country  baronet  who  told  them  they  kept  court 
hours.  These  persons  of  fashion  began  their  dinner  with  a  sirloin 
of  beef,  fish,  a  shoulder  of  veal,  and  a  tongue.  My  Lady  Smart 
carved  the  sirloin,  my  Lady  Answerall  helped  the  fish,  and  the 
gallant  Colonel  cut  the  shoulder  of  veal.  All  made  a  considerable 
inroad  on  the  sirloin  and  the  shoulder  of  veal  with  the  exception 
of  Sir  John,  who  had  no  appetite,  having  already  partaken  of  a 
beefsteak  and  two  mugs  of  ale,  besides  a  tankard  of  March  beer 
as  soon  as  he  got  out  of  bed.  They  drank  claret,  which  the  master 
of  the  house  said  should  always  be  drunk  after  fish;  and  my  Lord 
Smart  particularly  recommended  some  excellent  cider  to  my  Lord 
Sparkish,  which  occasioned  some  brilliant  remarks  from  that 
nobleman.  When  the  host  called  for  wine,  he  nodded  to  one  or 
other  ot  his  guests,  and  said,  "Tom  Neverout,  my  service  to  you." 

After  the  first  course  came  almond-pudding,  fritters,  which  the 
Colonel  took  with  his  hands  out  of  the  dish,  in  order  to  help  the 
brilliant  Miss  Notable;  chickens,  black  puddings,  and  soup;  and 
Lady  Smart,  the  elegant  mistress  of  the  mansion,  finding  a  skewer 
in  a  dish,  placed  it  in  her  plate  with  the  directions  that  it  should 
be  carried  down  to  the  cook  and  dressed  for  the  cook's  own  dinner. 
Wine  and  small  beer  were  drunk  during  this  second  course;  and 
when  the  Colonel  called  for  beer,  he  called  the  butler  Friend,  and 
asked  whether  the  beer  was  good.  Various  jocular  remarks  passed 
from  the  gentlefolks  to  the  servants;  at  breakfast  several  persons 
had  a  word  and  a  joke  for  Mrs.  Betty,  my  lady's  maid,  who  warmed 
the  cream  and  had  charge  of  the  canister  (the  tea  cost  thirty  shil- 
lings a  pound  in  those  days).  When  my  Lady  Sparkish  sent  her 
footman  out  to  my  Lady  Match  to  come  at  six  o'clock  and  play  at 
quadrille,  her  ladyship  warned  the  man  to  follow  his  nose,  and  if 
he  fell  by  the  way  not  to  stay  to  get  up  again.  And  when  the 
gentleman  asked  the  hall-porter  if  his  lady  was  at  home,  that  func- 

27 


STEELE 

tionary  replied,  with  manly  waggishness,  "  She  was  at  home  just 
now,  but  she's  not  gone  out  yet." 

After  the  puddings,  sweet  and  black,  the  fritters  and  soup, 
came  the  third  course,  of  which  the  chief  dish  was  a  hot  venison 
pasty,  which  was  put  before  Lord  Smart,  and  carved  by  that  noble- 
man. Besides  the  pasty,  there  was  a  hare,  a  rabbit,  some  pigeons, 
partridges,  a  goose,  and  a  ham.  Beer  and  wine  were  freely  imbibed 
during  this  course,  the  gentlemen  always  pledging  somebody  with 
every  glass  which  they  drank;  and  by  this  time  the  conversation 
between  Tom  Neverout  and  Miss  Notable  had  grown  so  brisk  and 
lively,  that  the  Derbyshire  baronet  began  to  think  the  young  gentle- 
woman was  Tom's  sweetheart;  on  which  Miss  remarked,  that  she 
loved  Tom  "like  pie."  After  the  goose,  some  of  the  gentlemen 
took  a  dram  of  brandy,  "which  was  very  good  for  the  wholesomes," 
Sir  John  said ;  and  now  having  had  a  tolerably  substantial  dinner, 
honest  Lord  Smart  bade  the  butler  bring  up  the  great  tankard  full 
of  October  to  Sir  John.  The  great  tankard  was  passed  from  hand 
to  hand  and  mouth  to  mouth,  but  when  pressed  by  the  noble 
host  upon  the  gallant  Tom  Neverout,  he  said,  "No,  faith,  my 
lord;  I  like  your  wine,  and  won't  put  a  churl  upon  a  gentleman. 
Your  honor's  claret  is  good  enough  for  me."  And  so,  the  dinner 
over,  the  host  said,  "  Hang  saving,  bring  up  us  a  ha'porth  of  cheese." 

The  cloth  was  now  taken  away,  and  a  bottle  of  burgundy  was 
set  down,  of  which  the  ladies  were  invited  to  partake  before  they 
went  to  their  tea.  When  they  withdrew,  the  gentlemen  promised 
to  join  them  in  an  hour:  fresh  bottles  were  brought;  the  "dead 
men,"  meaning  the  empty  bottles,  removed;  and  "D'you  hear, 
John?  bring  clean  glasses,"  my  Lord  Smart  said.  On  which  the 
gallant  Colonel  Alwit  said,  "  I'll  keep  my  glass;  for  wine  is  the  best 
liquor  to  wash  glasses  in." 

After  an  hour  the  gentlemen  joined  the  ladies,  and  then  they 
all  sat  and  played  quadrille  until  three  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
when  the  chairs  and  the  flambeaux  came,  and  this  noble  company 
went  to  bed. 

Such  were  manners  six  or  seven  score  years  ago.  I  draw  no 
inference  from  this  queer  picture  —  let  all  moralists  here  present 
deduce  their  own.  Fancy  the  moral  condition  of  that  society  in 
which  a  lady  of  fashion  joked  with  a  footman,  and  carved  a  sirloin, 
and  provided  besides  a  great  shoulder  of  veal,  a  goose,  hare,  rabbit, 
chickens,  partridges,  black  puddings,  and  a  ham  for  a  dinner  for  eight 

28 


STEELE 

Christians.  What  —  what  could  have  been  the  condition  of  that 
polite  world  in  which  people  openly  ate  goose  after  almond-pudding, 
and  took  their  soup  in  the  middle  of  dinner  ?  Fancy  a  Colonel  in 
the  Guards  putting  his  hand  into  a  dish  of  beignets  d'abricot,  and 
helping  his  neighbor,  a  young  lady  du  monde  !  Fancy  a  noble  lord 
calling  out  to  the  servants,  before  the  ladies  at  his  table,  "Hang 
expense,  bring  up  a  ha'porth  of  cheese!"  Such  were  the  ladies 
of  Saint  James's  —  such  were  the  frequenters  of  "  White's  Choco- 
late-House," when  Swift  used  to  visit  it,  and  Steele  described  it  as 
the  centre  of  pleasure,  gallantry,  and  entertainment,  a  hundred 
and  forty  years  ago! 

Dennis,  who  ran  amuck  at  the  literary  society  of  his  day,  falls 
foul  of  poor  Steele,  and  thus  depicts  him :  —  "Sir  John  Fxigar,  of 

the  county  of in  Ireland,  is  of  a  middle  stature,  broad  shoulders, 

thick  legs,  a  shape  like  the  picture  of  somebody  over  a  farmer's 
chimney  —  a  short  chin,  a  short  nose,  a  short  forehead,  a  broad 
flat  face,  and  a  dusky  countenance.  Yet  with  such  a  face  and 
such  a  shape,  he  discovered  at  sixty  that  he  took  himself  for  a 
beauty,  and  appeared  to  be  more  mortified  at  being  told  that  he 
was  ugly,  than  he  was  by  any  reflection  made  upon  his  honor  or 
understanding. 

"He  is  a  gentleman  born,  witness  himself,  of  very  honorable 
family;  certainly  of  a  very  ancient  one,  for  his  ancestors  flourished 
in  Tipperary  long  before  the  English  ever  set  foot  in  Ireland.  He 
has  testimony  of  this  more  authentic  than  the  Herald's  Office, 
or  any  human  testimony.  For  God  has  marked  him  more  abun- 
dantly than  he  did  Cain,  and  stamped  his  native  country  on  his 
face,  his  understanding,  his  writings,  his  actions,  his  passions,  and, 
above  all,  his  vanity.  The  Hibernian  brogue  is  still  upon  all  these, 
though  long  habit  and  length  of  days  have  worn  it  off  his  tongue." 

Although  this  portrait  is  the  work  of  a  man  who  was  neither  the 
friend  of  Steele  nor  of  any  other  man  alive,  yet  there  is  a  dreadful 
resemblance  to  the  original  in  the  savage  and  exaggerated  traits 
of  the  caricature,  and  everybody  who  knows  him  must  recognize 
Dick  Steele.  Dick  set  about  almost  all  the  undertakings  of  his 
life  with  inadequate  means,  and,  as  he  took  and  furnished  a  house 
with  the  most  generous  intentions  towards  his  friends,  the  most 
tender  gallantry  towards  his  wife,  and  with  this  only  drawback, 
that  he  had  not  wherewithal  to  pay  the  rent  when  quarter-day 
came,  —  so,  in  his  life  he  proposed  to  himself  the  most  magnificent 

29 


STEELE 

schemes  of  virtue,  forbearance,  public  and  private  good,  and  the 
advancement  of  his  own  and  the  national  religion;  but  when  he 
had  to  pay  for  these  articles  —  so  difficult  to  purchase  and  so  costly 
to  maintain  —  poor  Dick's  money  was  not  forthcoming:  and  when 
Virtue  called  with  her  little  bill,  Dick  made  a  shuffling  excuse  that 
he  could  not  see  her  that  morning,  having  a  headache  from  being 
tipsy  over-night;  or  when  stern  Duty  rapped  at  the  door  with  his 
account,  Dick  was  absent  and  not  ready  to  pay.  He  was  shirk- 
ing at  the  tavern;  or  had  some  particular  business  (of  somebody's 
else)  at  the  ordinary:  or  he  was  in  hiding,  or  worse  than  in  hiding, 
in  the  lock-up  house.  What  a  situation  for  a  man !  —  for  a  philan- 
thropist—  for  a  lover  of  right  and  truth  —  for  a  magnificent  de- 
signer and  schemer!  Not  to  dare  to  look  in  the  face  the  Religion 
which  he  adored  and  which  he  had  offended:  to  have  to  shirk  down 
back  lanes  and  alleys,  so  as  to  avoid  the  friend  whom  he  loved  and 
who  had  trusted  him;  to  have  the  house,  which  he  had  intended 
for  his  wife,  whom  he  loved  passionately,  and  for  her  ladyship's 
company  which  he  wished  to  entertain  splendidly,  in  the  posses- 
sion of  a  bailiff's  man ;  with  a  crowd  of  little  creditors,  —  grocers, 
butchers,  and  small-coal  men  —  lingering  round  the  door  with 
their  bills  and  jeering  at  him.  Alas!  for  poor  Dick  Steele!  For 
nobody  else,  of  course.  There  is  no  man  or  woman  in  our  time 
who  makes  fine  projects  and  gives  them  up  from  idleness  or  want 
of  means.  When  Duty  calls  upon  us,  we  no  doubt  are  always  at 
home  and  ready  to  pay  that  grim  tax-gatherer.  When  we  are 
stricken  with  remorse  and  promise  reform,  we  keep  our  promise, 
and  are  never  angry,  or  idle,  or  extravagant  any  more.  There  are 
no  chambers  in  our  hearts,  destined  for  family  friends  and  ac- 
tions, and  now  occupied  by  some  Sin's  emissary  and  bailiff  in  pos- 
session. There  are  no  little  sins,  shabby  peccadilloes,  importunate 
remembrances,  or  disappointed  holders  of  our  promises  to  reform, 
hovering  at  our  steps,  or  knocking  at  our  door!  Of  course  not. 
We  are  living  in  the  nineteenth  century;  and  poor  Dick  Steele 
stumbled  and  got  up  again,  and  got  into  jail  and  out  again,  and 
sinned  and  repented,  and  loved  and  suffered,  and  lived  and  died, 
scores ,of  years  ago.  Peace  be  with  him!  Let  us  think  gently  of 
one  who  was  so  gentle:  let  us  speak  kindly  of  one  whose  own  breast 
exuberated  with  human  kindness. 


THE   TATLER 


THE    TATLER 


I 


MR.  BICKERSTAFF   ON    HIMSELF 

No.  89.]    THURSDAY,  NOVEMBER  3,  1709.    [STEELE.] 

Rura  mihi  placeant,  riguique  in  evallibus  amnes, 

Flumina  amem  sylvasque  inglorius 

VIRG.  GEORG.  ii.  485. 

My  next  desire  is,  void  of  care  and  strife, 
To  lead  a  soft,  secure,  inglorious  life: 
A  country  cottage  near  a  crystal  flood, 
A  winding  valley,  and  a  lofty  wood. 

HAVE  received  this  short  epistle  from  an  unknown  hand. 


"  SIR,  —  I  have  no  more  to  trouble  you  with,  than  to  desire  you 
would  in  your  next  help  me  to  some  answer  to  the  inclosed  concern- 
ing yourself.  In  the  mean  time  I  congratulate  you  upon  the  in- 
crease of  your  fame,  which  you  see  has  extended  itself  beyond  the 
bills  of  mortality." 

"  SIR,  —  That  the  country  is  barren  of  news  has  been  the  excuse, 
time  out  of  mind,  for  dropping  a  correspondence  with  our  friends 
in  London ;  as  if  it  were  impossible  out  of  a  coffee-house  to  write 
an  agreeable  letter.  I  am  too  ingenuous  to  endeavour  at  the 
covering  of  my  negligence  with  so  common  an  excuse.  Doubtless, 
amongst  friends,  bred,  as  we  have  been,  to  the  knowledge  of  books 
as  well  as  men,  a  letter  dated  from  a  garden,  a  grotto,  a  fountain,  a 
wood,  a  meadow,  or  the  banks  of  a  river,  may  be  more  entertaining 
than  one  from  Tom's,  Will's,  White's,  or  Saint  James's.  I  promise, 
therefore,  to  be  frequent  for  the  future  in  my  rural  dates  to  you. 
But  for  fear  you  should,  from  what  I  have  said,  be  induced  to  believe 
I  shun  the  commerce  of  men,  I  must  inform  you,  that  there  is  a 
fresh  topic  of  discourse  lately  arisen  amongst  the  ingenious  in  our 

33 


THE  TATLER 

part  of  the  world,  and  is  become  the  more  fashionable  for  the  ladies 
giving  into  it.  This  we  owe  to  Isaac  Bickerstaff ,  who  is  very  much 
censured  by  some,  and  as  much  justified  by  others.  Some  criticise 
his  style,  his  humour,  and  his  matter;  others  admire  the  whole  man. 
Some  pretend,  from  the  informations  of  their  friends  in  town,  to  de- 
cypher  the  author;  and  others  confess  they  are  lost  in  then-  guesses. 
For  my  part,  I  must  own  myself  a  professed  admirer  of  the  paper, 
and  desire  you  to  send  me  a  complete  set,  together  with  your 
thoughts  of  the  squire  and  his  lucubrations." 

There  is  no  pleasure  like  that  of  receiving  praise  from  the  praise- 
worthy; and  I  own  it  a  very  solid  happiness,  that  these  my  lucubra- 
tions are  approved  by  a  person  of  so  fine  a  taste  as  the  author  of  this 
letter,  who  is  capable  of  enjoying  the  world  in  the  simplicity  of  its 
natural  beauties.  This  pastoral  letter,  if  I  may  so  call  it,  must  be 
written  by  a  man  who  carries  his  entertainment  wherever  he  goes, 
and  is  undoubtedly  one  of  those  happy  men  who  appear  far  other- 
wise to  the  vulgar.  I  dare  say,  he  is  not  envied  by  the  vicious,  the 
vain,  the  frolic,  and  the  loud;  but  is  continually  blessed  with  that 
strong  and  serious  delight,  which  flows  from  a  well-taught  and 
liberal  mind.  With  great  respect  to  country  sports,  I  may  say,  this 
gentleman  could  pass  his  time  agreeably,  if  there  were  not  a  hare  or 
a  fox  in  his  county.  That  calm  and  elegant  satisfaction  which  the 
vulgar  call  melancholy  is  the  true  and  proper  delight  of  men  of 
knowledge  and  virtue.  What  we  take  for  diversion,  which  is  a 
kind  of  forgetting  ourselves,  is  but  a  mean  way  of  entertainment, 
in  comparison  of  that  which  is  considering,  knowing,  and  enjoying 
ourselves.  The  pleasures  of  ordinary  people  are  in  their  passions ; 
but  the  seat  of  this  delight  is  hi  the  reason  and  understanding. 
Such  a  frame  of  mind  raises  that  sweet  enthusiasm,  which  warms 
the  imagination  at  the  sight  of  every  work  of  nature,  and  turns  all 
round  you  into  a  picture  and  landscape.  I  shall  be  ever  proud  of 
advices  from  this  gentleman;  for  I  prof  ess 'writing  news  from  the 
learned,  as  well  as  the  busy  world. 

As  for  my  labours,  which  he  is  pleased  to  inquire  after,  if  they 
can  but  wear  one  impertinence  out  of  human  life,  destroy  a  single 
vice,  or  give  a  morning's  cheerfulness  to  an  honest  mind;  in  short, 
if  the  world  can  be  but  one  virtue  the  better,  or  hi  any  degree  less 
vicious,  or  receive  from  them  the  smallest  addition  to  their  innocent 
diversions;  I  shall  not  think  my  pains,  or  indeed  my  life,  to  have 
been  spent  in  vain. 

34 


THE   TATLER 

Thus  far  as  to  my  studies.  It  will  be  expected  I  should  in  the 
next  place  give  some  account  of  my  life.  I  shall  therefore,  for  the 
satisfaction  of  the  present  age,  and  the  benefit  of  posterity,  present 
the  world  with  the  following  abridgement  of  it. 

It  is  remarkable,  that  I  was  bred  by  hand,  and  eat  nothing  but 
milk  until  I  was  a  twelve-month  old ;  from  which  time,  to  the  eighth 
year  of  my  ge,  I  was  observed  to  delight  in  pudding  and  potatoes; 
and  indeed  I  retain  a  benevolence  for  that  sort  of  food  to  this  day. 
I  do  not  remember  that  I  distinguished  myself  in  any  thing  at  those 
years,  but  by  my  great  skill  at  taw,  for  which  I  was  so  barbarously 
used,  that  it  has  ever  since  given  me  an  aversion  to  gaming.  In 
my  twelfth  year,  I  suffered  very  much  for  two  or  three  false  con- 
cords. At  fifteen  I  was  sent  to  the  university,  and  staid  there  for 
some  time  ;  but  a  drum  passing  by,  being  a  lover  of  music,  I  inlisted 
myself  for  a  soldier.  As  years  came  on,  I  began  to  examine  things, 
and  grew  discontented  at  the  times.  This  made  me  quit  the  sword, 
and  take  to  the  study  of  the  occult  sciences,  hi  which  I  was  so 
wrapped  up,  that  Oliver  Cromwell  had  been  buried,  and  taken  up 
again,  five  years  before  I  heard  he  was  dead.  This  gave  me  first 
the  reputation  of  a  conjurer,  which  has  been  of  great  disadvantage 
to  me  ever  since,  and  kept  me  out  of  all  public  employments.  The 
greater  part  of  my  later  years  has  been  divided  between  Dick's 
coffee-house,  the  Trumpet  in  Sheer-lane,  and  my  own  lodgings. 


MEMORIES   OF   HIS   CHILDHOOD 


No.   181.]     TUESDAY,  JUNE  6,  1710.    [STEELE.] 

Dies,  ni  fallor,  adest,  quern  semper  acerbum, 

Semper  honoratum,  sic  dii  voluistis  habebo. 

VIRG.  ./EN.  v.  49. 

And  now  the  rising  day  renews  the  year, 
A  day  for  ever  sad,  for  ever  dear. 

THERE  are  those  among  mankind,  who  can  enjoy  no  relish  of 
their  being,  except  the  world  is  made  acquainted  with  all  that 
relates  to  them,  and  think  every  thing  lost  that  passes  unobserved; 

35 


THE   TATLER 

but  others  find  a  solid  delight  in  stealing  by  the  crowd,  and  model- 
ling their  life  after  such  a  manner,  as  is  as  much  above  the  appro- 
bation as  the  practice  of  the  vulgar.  Life  being  too  short  to  give 
instances  great  enough  of  true  friendship  or  good  will,  some  sages 
have  thought  it  pious  to  preserve  a  certain  reverence  for  the  Manes 
of  their  deceased  friends;  and  have  withdrawn  themselves  from 
the  rest  of  the  world  at  certain  seasons,  to  commemorate  in  their 
own  thoughts  such  of  their  acquaintance  who  have  gone  before 
them  out  of  this  life.  And  indeed,  when  we  are  advanced  in  years, 
there  is  not  a  more  pleasing  entertainment,  than  to  recollect  in  a 
gloomy  moment  the  many  we  have  parted  with,  that  have  been  dear 
and  agreeable  to  us,  and  to  cast  a  melancholy  thought  or  two  after 
those,  with  whom,  perhaps,  we  have  indulged  ourselves  in  whole 
nights  of  mirth  and  jollity.  With  such  inclinations  in  my  heart 
I  went  to  my  closet  yesterday  in  the  evening,  and  resolved  to  be 
sorrowful;  upon  which  occasion  I  could  not  but  look  with  disdain 
upon  myself,  that  though  all  the  reasons  which  I  had  to  lament  the 
loss  of  many  of  my  friends  are  now  as  forcible  as  at  the  moment 
of  their  departure,  yet  did  not  my  heart  swell  with  the  same  sorrow 
which  I  felt  at  that  time;  but  I  could,  without  tears,  reflect  upon 
many  pleasing  adventures  I  have  had  with  some,  who  have  long 
been  blended  with  common  earth. 

Though  it  is  by  the  benefit  of  nature,  that  length  of  tune  thus 
blots  out  the  violence  of  afflictions;  yet  with  tempers  too  much 
given  to  pleasure,  it  is  almost  necessary  to  revive  the  old  places 
of  grief  in  our  memory;  and  ponder  step  by  step  on  past  life,  to 
lead  the  mind  into  that  sobriety  of  thought  which  poises  the  heart, 
and  makes  it  beat  with  due  time,  without  being  quickened  with 
desire,  or  retarded  with  despair,  from  its  proper  and  equal  motion. 
When  we  wind  up  a  clock  that  is  out  of  order,  to  make  it  go  well 
for  the  future,  we  do  not  immediately  set  the  hand  to  the  present 
instant,  but  we  make  it  strike  the  round  of  all  its  hours,  before  it 
can  recover  the  regularity  of  its  time.  Such,  thought  I,  shall  be  my 
method  this  evening;  and  since  it  is  that  day  of  the  year  which 
I  dedicate  to  the  memory  of  such  in  another  life  as  I  much  delighted 
in  when  living,  an  hour  or  two  shall  be  sacred  to  sorrow  and  their 
memory,  while  I  run  over  all  the  melancholy  circumstances  of  this 
kind  which  have  occurred  to  me  in  my  whole  life.  The  first  sense 
of  sorrow  I  ever  knew  was  upon  the  death  of  my  father  at  which 
time  I  was  not  quite  five  years  of  age;  but  was  rather  amazed  at 

36 


THE   TATLER 

what  all  the  house  meant,  than  possessed  with  a  real  understand- 
ing why  nobody  was  willing  to  play  with  me.  I  remember  I  went 
into  the  room  where  his  body  lay,  and  my  mother  sat  weeping  alone 
by  it.  I  had  my  battledore  in  my  hand,  and  fell  a-beating  the 
coffin,  and  calling  papa;  for,  I  know  not  how,  I  had  some  slight  idea 
that  he  was  locked  up  there.  My  mother  catched  me  in  her  arms, 
and,  transported  beyond  all  patience  of  the  silent  grief  she  was 
before  in,  she  almost  smothered  me  in  her  embraces;  and  told  me, 
in  a  flood  of  tears,  "Papa  could  not  hear  me,  and  would  play  with 
me  no  more,  for  they  were  going  to  put  him  under  ground,  whence 
he  could  never  come  to  us  again."  She  was  a  very  beautiful  woman, 
of  a  noble  spirit,  and  there  was  a  dignity  in  her  grief  amidst  all  the 
wildness  of  her  transport,  which,  methought,  struck  me  with  an 
instinct  of  sorrow,  that,  before  I  was  sensible  of  what  it  was  to 
grieve,  seized  my  very  soul,  and  has  made  pity  the  weakness  of  my 
heart  ever  since.  The  mind  in  infancy  is,  methinks,  like  the  body 
in  embryo,  and  receives  impressions  so  forcible,  that  they  are  as 
hard  to  be  removed  by  reason,  as  any  mark,  with  which  a  child 
is  born,  is  to  be  taken  away  by  any  future  application.  Hence 
it  is,  that  good-nature  in  me  is  no  merit;  but  having  been  so  fre- 
quently overwhelmed  with  her  tears  before  I  knew  the  cause  of 
any  affliction,  or  could  draw  defences  from  my  own  judgment. 
I  imbibed  commiseration,  remorse,  and  an  unmanly  gentleness 
of  mind,  which  have  since  insnared  me  into  ten  thousand  calami- 
ties; from  whence  I  can  reap  no  advantage,  except  it  be,  that,  in 
such  a  humour  as  I  am  now  in,  I  can  the  better  indulge  myself 
in  the  softnesses  of  humanity,  and  enjoy  that  sweet  anxiety  which 
arises  from  the  memory  oi  past  afflictions. 

We,  that  are  very  old,  are  better  able  to  remember  things  which 
befel  us  in  our  distant  youth,  than  the  passages  of  later  days.  For 
this  reason  it  is,  that  the  companions  of  my  strong  and  vigorous 
years  present  themselves  more  immediately  to  me  hi  this  office  of 
sorrow.  Untimely  and  unhappy  deaths  are  what  we  are  most  apt 
to  lament ;  so  little  are  we  able  to  make  it  indifferent  when  a  thing 
happens,  though  we  know  it  must  happen.  Thus  we  groan  under 
life,  and  bewail  those  who  are  relieved  from  it.  Every  object  that 
returns  to  our  imagination  raises  different  passions,  according  to 
the  circumstances  of  their  departure.  Who  can  have  lived  in  an 
army,  and  in  a  serious  hour  reflect  upon  the  many  gay  and  agree- 
able men  that  might  long  have  flourished  in  the  arts  of  peace,  and 

37 


THE   TATLER 

not  join  with  the  imprecations  of  the  fatherless  and  widow  on  the 
tyrant  to  whose  ambition  they  fell  sacrifices?  But  gallant  men, 
who  are  cut  off  by  the  sword,  move  rather  our  veneration  than  our 
pity;  and  we  gather  relief  enough  from  their  own  contempt  of  death, 
to  make  that  no  evil,  which  was  approached  with  so  much  cheer- 
fulness, and  attended  with  so  much  honour.  But  when  we  turn  our 
thoughts  from  the  great  parts  of  life  on  such  occasions,  and  instead 
of  lamenting  those  who  stood  ready  to  give  death  to  those  from 
whom  they  had  the  fortune  to  receive  it;  I  say,  when  we  let  our 
thoughts  wander  from  such  noble  objects,  and  consider  the  havock 
which  is  made  among  the  tender  and  the  innocent,  pity  enters  with 
an  unmixed  softness,  and  possesses  all  our  souls  at  once. 

Here  (were  there  words  to  express  such  sentiments  with  proper 
tenderness)  I  should  record  the  beauty,  innocence  and  untimely 
death,  of  the  first  object  my  eyes  ever  beheld  with  love.  The  beau- 
teous virgin!  how  ignorantly  did  she  charm,  how  carelessly  excel! 
Oh  Death!  thou  hast  right  to  the  bold,  to  the  ambitious,  to  the  high, 
and  to  the  haughty;  but  why  this  cruelty  to  the  humble,  to  the  meek, 
to  the  undiscerning,  to  the  thoughtless?  Nor  age,  nor  business, 
nor  distress,  can  erase  the  dear  image  from  my  imagination.  In 
the  same  week,  I  saw  her  dressed  for  a  ball,  and  in  a  shroud.  How 
ill  did  the  habit  of  death  become  the  pretty  trifler  ?  I  still  behold 

the  smiling  earth A  large  train  of  disasters  were  coming  on  to 

my  memory,  when  my  servant  knocked  at  my  closet-door,  and 
interrupted  me  with  a  letter,  attended  with  a  hamper  of  wine,  of  the 
same  sort  with  that  which  is  to  be  put  to  sale,  on  Thursday  next,  at 
Garraway's  coffee-house.  Upon  the  receipt  of  it,  I  sent  for  three 
of  my  friends.  We  are  so  intimate,  that  we  can  be  company  in 
whatever  state  of  mind  we  meet,  and  can  entertain  each  other  with- 
out expecting  always  to  rejoice.  The  wine  we  found  to  be  generous 
and  warming,  but  with  such  an  heat  as  moved  us  rather  to  be 
cheerful  than  frolicksome.  It  revived  the  spirits,  without  firing  the 
blood.  We  commended  it  until  two  of  the  clock  this  morning ;  and 
having  to-day  met  a  little  before  dinner,  we  found,  that  though  we 
drank  two  bottles  a  man,  we  had  much  more  reason  to  recollect  than 
forget  what  had  passed  the  night  before. 


THE    TATLER 

A   VISIT   TO   A    FRIEND 

No.  95,]    THURSDAY,  NOVEMBER  17,  1709.    [STEELE.] 

Interea  dulces  pendent  circum  oscula  nati, 

Casta  pudicitiam  servat  domus 

VIRG.  GEORO.  ii.  523. 

His  cares  are  eas'd  with  intervals  of  bliss; 
His  little  children,  climbing  for  a  kiss, 
Welcome  their  father's  late  return  at  night; 
His  faithful  bed  is  crown'd  with  chaste  delight. 

THERE  are  several  persons  who  have  many  pleasures  and  en- 
tertainments in  their  possession,  which  they  do  not  enjoy.  It 
is,  therefore,  a  kind  and  good  office  to  acquaint  them  with  their  own 
happiness,  and  turn  their  attention  to  such  instances  of  their  good 
fortune  as  they  are  apt  to  overlook.  Persons  in  the  married  state 
often  want  such  a  monitor;  and  pine  away  then-  days,  by  looking 
upon  the  same  condition  in  anguish  and  murmur,  which  carries 
with  it  in  the  opinion  of  others  a  complication  of  all  the  pleasures  of 
life,  and  a  retreat  from  its  inquietudes. 

I  am  led  into  this  thought  by  a  visit  I  made  an  old  friend,  who 
was  formerly  my  schoolfellow.  He  came  to  town  last  week  with  his 
family  for  the  winter,  and  yesterday  morning  sent  me  word  his  wife 
expected  me  to  dinner.  I  am  as  it  were  at  home  at  that  house,  and 
every  member  of  it  knows  me  for  their  well-wisher.  I  cannot  indeed 
express  the  pleasure  it  is,  to  be  met  by  the  children  with  so  much  joy 
as  I  am  when  I  go  thither.  The  boys  and  girls  strive  who  shall 
come  first,  when  they  think  it  is  I  that  am  knocking  at  that  door; 
and  that  child  which  loses  the  race  to  me  runs  back  again  to  tell  the 
father  it  is  Mr.  Bickerstaff .  This  day  I  was  led  in  by  a  pretty  girl, 
that  we  all  thought  must  have  forgot  me;  for  the  family  has  been 
out  of  town  these  two  years.  Her  knowing  me  again  was  a 
mighty  subject  with  us,  and  took  up  our  discourse  at  the  first  en- 
trance. After  which,  they  began  to  rally  me  upon  a  thousand  little 
stories  they  heard  in  the  country,  about  my  marriage  to  one  of  my 
neighbour's  daughters.  Upon  which  the  gentleman,  my  friend 
said,  "Nay,  if  Mr.  Bickerstaff  marries  a  child  of  any  of  his  old  com- 
panions, I  hope  mine  shall  have  the  preference ;  there  is  Mrs.  Mary 

39 


THE    TATLER 

is  now  sixteen,  and  would  make  him  as  fine  a  widow  as  the  best  of 
them.  But  I  know  him  too  well;  he  is  so  enamoured  with  the  very 
memory  of  those  who  flourished  in  our  youth,  that  he  will  not  so 
much  as  look  upon  the  modern  beauties.  I  remember,  old  gentle- 
man, how  often  you  went  home  in  a  day  to  refresh  your  counte- 
nance and  dress,  when  Teraminta  reigned  in  your  heart.  As  we 
came  up  in  the  coach,  I  repeated  to  my  wife  some  of  your  verses  on 
her." 

With  such  reflections  on  little  passages  which  happened  long  ago, 
we  passed  our  time,  during  a  cheerful  and  elegant  meal.  After 
dinner,  his  lady  left  the  room,  as  did  also  the  children.  As  soon 
as  we  were  alone,  he  took  me  by  the  hand;  "  Well,  my  good  friend," 
says  he,  "I  am  heartily  glad  to  see  thee;  I  was  afraid  you  would 
never  have  seen  all  the  company  that  dined  with  you  to-day 
again.  Do  not  you  think  the  good  woman  of  the  house  a  little 
altered,  since  you  followed  her  from  the  play-house  to  find  out  who 
she  was  for  me?"  I  perceived  a  tear  fall  down  his  cheek  as  he 
spoke,  which  moved  me  not  a  little.  But,  to  turn  the  discourse,  I 
said,  "  She  is  not  indeed  quite  that  creature  she  was,  when  she  re- 
turned me  the  letter  I  carried  from  you ;  and  told  me,  '  she  hoped, 
as  I  was  a  gentleman,  I  would  be  employed  no  more  to  trouble  her, 
who  had  never  offended  me;  but  would  be  so  much  the  gentleman's 
friend  as  to  dissuade  him  from  a  pursuit,  which  he  could  never 
succeed  in.'  You  may  remember,  I  thought  her  in  earnest;  and 
you  were  forced  to  employ  your  cousin  Will,  who  made  his  sister 
get  acquainted  with  her,  for  you.  You  cannot  expect  her  to  be  for 
ever  fifteen."  —  "Fifteen!"  replied  my  good  friend:  "Ah!  you 
little  understand,  you  that  have  lived  a  bachelor,  how  great,  how 
exquisite  a  pleasure  there  is,  in  being  really  beloved !  It  is  impossi- 
ble, that  the  most  beauteous  face  in  nature  should  raise  in  me  such 
pleasing  ideas,  as  when  I  look  upon  that  excellent  woman.  That 
fading  hi  her  countenance  is  chiefly  caused  by  her  watching  with 
me,  in  my  fever.  This  was  followed  by  a  fit  of  sickness,  which  had 
like  to  have  carried  her  off  last  winter.  I  tell  you  sincerely,  I  have 
so  many  obligations  to  her,  that  I  cannot,  with  any  sort  of  modera- 
tion, think  of  her  present  state  of  health.  But  as  to  what  you  say 
of  fifteen,  she  gives  me  every  day  pleasures  beyond  what  I  ever  knew 
in  the  possession  of  her  beauty,  when  I  was  in  the  vigour  of  youth. 
Every  moment  of  her  life  brings  me  fresh  instances  of  her  compla- 
cency to  my  inclinations,  and  her  prudence  in  regard  to  my  fortune. 

40 


THE   TATLER 

Her  face  is  to  me  much  more  beautiful  than  when  I  first  saw  it; 
there  is  no  decay  in  any  feature,  which  I  cannot  trace,  from  the  very 
instant  it  was  occasioned  by  some  anxious  concern  for  my  welfare 
and  interests.  Thus,  at  the  same  time,  methinks,  the  love  I  con- 
ceived towards  her  for  what  she  was  is  heightened  by  my  gratitude 
for  what  she  is.  The  love  of  a  wife  is  as  much  above  the  idle  passion 
commonly  called  by  that  name,  as  the  loud  laughter  of  buffoons  is 
inferior  to  the  elegant  mirth  of  gentlemen.  Oh!  she  is  an  inestim- 
able jewel.  In  her  examination  of  her  household  affairs,  she  shews 
a  certain  fearfulness  to  find  a  fault,  which  makes  her  servants  obey 
her  like  children ;  and  the  meanest  we  have  has  an  ingenuous  shame 
for  an  offence,  not  always  to  be  seen  in  children  in  other  families. 
I  speak  freely  to  you,  my  old  friend ;  ever  since  her  sickness,  things 
that  gave  me  the  quickest  joy  before  turn  now  to  a  certain  anxiety. 
As  the  children  play  in  the  next  room,  I  know  the  poor  things  by 
their  steps,  and  am  considering  what  they  must  do,  should  they  lose 
their  mother  in  their  tender  years.  The  pleasure  I  used  to  take  in 
telling  my  boy  stories  of  battles,  and  asking  my  girl  questions  about 
the  disposal  of  her  baby,  and  the  gossiping  of  it,  is  turned  into  in- 
ward reflection  and  melancholy." 

He  would  have  gone  on  in  this  tender  way,  when  the  good  lady 
entered,  and  with  an  inexpressible  sweetness  in  her  countenance 
told  us,  "  she  had  been  searching  her  closet  for  something  very  good, 
to  treat  such  an  old  friend  as  I  was."  Her  husband's  eyes  sparkled 
with  pleasure  at  the  cheerfulness  of  her  countenance;  and  I  saw  all 
his  fears  vanish  in  an  instant.  The  lady  observing  something  in 
our  looks  which  shewed  we  had  been  more  serious  than  ordinary, 
and  seeing  her  husband  receive  her  with  great  concern  under 
a  forced  cheerfulness,  immediately  guessed  at  what  we  had  been 
talking  of;  and  applying  herself  to  me,  said,  with  a  smile,  "Mr. 
Bickerstaff,  do  not  believe  a  word  of  what  he  tells  you;  I  shall  still 
live  to  have  you  for  my  second,  as  I  have  often  promised  you,  unless 
he  takes  more  care  of  himself  than  he  has  done  since  his  coming  to 
town.  You  must  know,  he  tells  me  that  he  finds  London  is  a  much 
more  healthy  place  than  the  country;  for  he  sees  several  of  his  old 
acquaintance  and  schoolfellows  are  here  young  fellows  with  fair  full- 
bottomed  periwigs.  I  could  scarce  keep  him  this  morning  from  going 
out  open  breasted."  My  friend,  who  is  always  extremely  delighted 
with  her  agreeable  humour,  made  her  sit  down  with  us.  She  did 
it  with  that  easiness  which  is  peculiar  to  women  of  sense;  and,  to 

41 


THE   TATLER 

keep  up  the  good  humour  she  had  brought  in  with  her,  turned  her 
raillery  upon  me.  "Mr.  Bickerstaff,  you  remember  you  followed 
me  one  night  from  the  play-house;  suppose  you  should  carry  me 
thither  to-morrow  night,  and  lead  me  into  the  front-box."  This 
put  us  into  a  long  field  of  discourse  about  the  beauties,  who  were 
mothers  to  the  present,  and  shined  in  the  boxes  twenty  years  ago. 
I  told  her,  "  I  was  glad  she  had  transferred  so  many  of  her  charms, 
and  I  did  not  question  but  her  eldest  daughter  was  within  half  a 
year  of  being  a  Toast." 

We  were  pleasing  ourselves  with  this  fantastical  preferment  of 
the  young  lady,  when  on  a  sudden  we  were  alarmed  with  the  noise 
of  a  drum,  and  immediately  entered  my  little  godson  to  give  me  a 
point  of  war.  His  mother,  between  laughing  and  chiding,  would 
have  put  him  out  of  the  room;  but  I  would  not  part  with  him  so. 
I  found  upon  conversation  with  him,  though  he  was  a  little  noisy 
in  his  mirth,  that  the  child  had  excellent  parts,  and  was  a  great 
master  of  all  the  learning  on  the  other  side  eight  years  old.  I 
perceived  him  a  very  great  historian  in  ^Esop's  Fables;  but  he 
frankly  declared  to  me  his  mind,  "that  he  did  not  delight  in  that 
learning,  because  he  did  not  believe  they  were  true";  for  which 
reason  I  found  he  had  very  much  turned  his  studies,  for  about  a 
twelve-month  past,  into  the  lives  and  adventures  of  don  Bellianis 
of  Greece,  Guy  of  Warwick,  the  Seven  Champions,  and  other 
historians  of  that  age.  I  could  not  but  observe  the  satisfaction 
the  father  took  in  the  forwardness  of  his  son ;  and  that  these  diver- 
sions might  turn  to  some  profit,  I  found  the  boy  had  made  remarks, 
which  might  be  of  service  to  him  during  the  course  of  his  whole 
life.  He  would  jtell  you  the  mismanagements  of  John  Hickathrif t, 
find  fault  with  the  passionate  temper  in  Be  vis  of  Southampton,  and 
loved  Saint  George  for  being  the  champion  of  England;  and  by 
this  means  had  his  thoughts  insensibly  moulded  into  the  notions 
of  discretion,  virtue,  and  honour.  I  was  extolling  his  accomplish- 
ments, when  the  mother  told  me,  "that  the  little  girl  who  led  me  in 
this  morning  was  in  her  way  a  better  scholar  than  he.  Betty," 
says  she,  "deals  chiefly  in  fairies  and  sprights;  and  sometimes  hi 
a  winter-night  will  terrify  the  maids  with  her  accounts,  until  they 
are  afraid  to  go  up  to  bed." 

I  sat  with  them  until  it  was  very  late,  sometimes  in  merry,  some- 
times in  serious  discourse,  with  this  particular  pleasure,  which  gives 
the  only  true  relish  to  all  conversation,  a  sense  that  every  one  of 

42 


THE   TATLER 

us  liked  each  other.  I  went  home,  considering  the  different  con- 
ditions of  a  married  life  and  that  of  a  bachelor ;  and  I  must  confess 
it  struck  me  with  a  secret  concern,  to  reflect,  that  whenever  I  go  off 
I  shall  leave  no  traces  behind  me. 


DUELLING 

No.  25.]    TUESDAY,  JUNE  7,  1709.    [STEELE.] 

A  LETTER  from  a  young  lady,  written  in  the  most  passionate 
terms,  wherein  she  laments  the  misfortune  of  a  gentleman, 
her  lover,  who  was  lately  wounded  in  a  duel,  has  turned  my  thoughts 
to  that  subject,  and  inclined  me  to  examine  into  the  causes  which 
precipitate  men  into  so  fatal  a  folly.  And  as  it  has  been  proposed 
to  treat  of  subjects  of  gallantry  in  the  article  from  hence,  and  no 
one  point  in  nature  is  more  proper  to  be  considered  by  the  com- 
pany who  frequent  this  place  than  that  of  duels,  it  is  worth  our 
consideration  to  examine  into  this  chimerical  groundless  humour, 
and  to  lay  every  other  thought  aside,  until  we  have  stripped  it  of 
all  its  false  pretences  to  credit  and  reputation  amongst  men. 

But  I  must  confess,  when  I  consider  what  I  am  going  about,  and 
run  over  in  my  imagination  all  the  endless  crowd  of  men  of  honour 
who  will  be  offended  at  such  a  discourse;  I  am  undertaking,  me- 
thinks,  a  work  worthy  an  invulnerable  hero  in  romance,  rather 
than  a  private  gentleman  with  a  single  rapier :  but  as  I  am  pretty 
well  acquainted  by  great  opportunities  with  the  nature  of  man, 
and  know  of  a  truth  that  all  men  fight  against  their  will,  the  danger 
vanishes,  and  resolution  rises  upon  this  subject.  For  this  reason, 
I  shall  talk  very  freely  on  a  custom  which  all  men  wish  exploded, 
though  no  man  has  courage  enough  to  resist  it. 

But  there  is  one  unintelligible  word,  which  I  fear  will  extremely 
perplex  my  dissertation,  and  I  confess  to  you  I  find  very  hard  to 
explain,  which  is  the  term  "satisfaction."  An  honest  country 
gentleman  had  the  misfortune  to  fall  into  company  with  two  or 
three  modern  men  of  honour,  where  he  happened  to  be  very  ill- 
treated;  and  one  of  the  company,  being  conscious  of  his  offence 
sends  a  note  to  him  in  the  morning,  and  tells  him,  he  was  ready 

43 


THE   TATLER 

to  give  him  satisfaction.  "This  is  fine  doing,"  says  the  plain 
fellow;  "last  night  he  sent  me  away  cursedly  out  of  humour,  and 
this  morning  he  fancies  it  would  be  a  satisfaction  to  be  run  through 
the  body." 

As  the  matter  at  present  stands,  it  is  not  to  do  handsome  actions 
denominates  a  man  of  honour;  it  is  enough  if  he  dares  to  defend 
ill  ones.  Thus  you  often  see  a  common  sharper  in  competition 
with  a  gentleman  of  the  first  rank;  though  all  mankind  is  convinced, 
that  a  fighting  gamester  is  only  a  pickpocket  with  the  courage  of 
an  highwayman.  One  cannot  with  any  patience  reflect  on  the 
unaccountable  jumble  of  persons  and  things  in  this  town  and 
nation,  which  occasions  very  frequently,  that  a  brave  man  falls 
by  a  hand  below  that  of  a  common  hangman,  and  yet  his  execu- 
tioner escapes  the  clutches  of  the  hangman  fordoing  it.  I  shall 
therefore  hereafter  consider,  how  the  bravest  men  in  other  ages 
and  nations  have  behaved  themselves  upon  such  incidents  as  we 
decide  by  combat;  and  shew,  from  their  practice,  that  this  resent- 
ment neither  has  its  foundation  from  true  reason  or  solid  fame; 
but  is  an  imposture,  made  of  cowardice,  falsehood,  and  want  of 
understanding.  For  this  work,  a  good  history  of  quarrels  would 
be  very  edifying  to  the  public,  and  I  apply  myself  to  the  town  for 
particulars  and  circumstances  within  their  knowledge,  which  may 
serve  to  embellish  the  dissertation  with  proper  cuts.  Most  of  the 
quarrels  I  have  ever  known,  have  proceeded  from  some  valiant 
coxcomb's  persisting  in  the  wrong,  to  defend  some  prevailing  folly, 
and  preserve  himself  from  the  ingenuousness  of  owning  a  mistake. 

By  this  means  it  is  called  "giving  a  man  satisfaction,"  to  urge 
your  offence  against  him  with  your  sword ;  which  puts  me  in  mind 
of  Peter's  order  to  the  keeper,  in  The  Tale  of  a  Tub :  "  if  you  neglect 
to  do  all  this,  damn  you  and  your  generation  for  ever:  and  so  we 
bid  you  heartily  farewell."  If  the  contradiction  in  the  very  terms 
of  one  of  our  challenges  were  as  well  explained  and  turned  into 
downright  English,  would  it  not  run  after  this  manner  ? 

"  SIR,  —  Your  extraordinary  behaviour  last  night,  and  the  liberty 
you  were  pleased  to  take  with  me,  makes  me  this  morning  give  you 
this,  to  tell  you,  because  you  are  an  ill-bred  puppy,  I  will  meet  you 
in  Hyde-park,  an  hour  hence;  and  because  you  want  both  breed- 
ing and  humanity,  I  desire  you  would  come  with  a  pistol  in  your 
hand,  on  horseback,  and  endeavour  to  shoot  me  through  the  head, 

44 


THE   TATLER 

to  teach  you  more  manners.  If  you  fail  of  doing  me  this  pleasure, 
I  shall  say,  you  are  a  rascal,  on  every  post  in  town:  and  so,  sir,  if 
you  will  not  injure  me  more,  I  shall  never  forgive  what  you  have 
done  already.  Pray,  sir,  do  not  fail  of  getting  everything  ready; 
and  you  will  infinitely  oblige,  sir,  your  most  obedient  humble 
servant,  &c. " 


SNUFF 

No.  35.]    THURSDAY,  JUNE  30,  1709.    [STEELE.] 

THERE  is  a  habit  or  custom  which  I  have  put  my  patience  to 
the  utmost  stretch  to  have  suffered  so  long,  because  several 
of  my  intimate  friends  are  in  the  guilt;  and  that  is,  the  humour  of 
taking  snuff,  and  looking  dirty  about  the  mouth  by  way  of  orna- 
ment. 

My  method  is,  to  dive  to  the  bottom  of  a  sore  before  I  pretend 
to  apply  a  remedy.  For  this  reason,  I  sat  by  an  eminent  story- 
teller and  politician,  who  takes  half  an  ounce  in  five  seconds,  and 
has  mortgaged  a  pretty  tenement  near  the  town,  merely  to  improve 
and  dung  his  brains  with  this  prolific  powder.  I  observed  this 
gentleman,  the  other  day,  in  the  midst  of  a  story,  diverted  from  it 
by  looking  at  something  at  a  distance,  and  I  softly  hid  his  box.  But 
he  returns  to  his  tale,  and,  looking  for  his  box,  he  cries,  "  And  so, 
sir — "  Then,  when  he  should  have  taken  a  pinch,  "As  I  was 
saying — "  says  he,  "has  nobody  seen  my  box?"  His  friend 
beseeches  him  to  finish  his  narration:  then  he  proceeds:  "And  so, 
sir  —  —  where  can  my  box  be  ?  "  Then  turning  to  me,  "  Pray,  sir, 
did  you  see  my  box?"  "Yes,  sir,"  said  I,  "I  took  it  to  see  how 
long  you  could  live  without  it."  He  resumes  his  tale,  and  I  took 
notice  that  his  dulness  was  much  more  regular  and  fluent  than 
before.  A  pinch  supplied  the  place  of  "As  I  was  saying,"  and 
"  So,  sir " ;  and  he  went  on  currently  enough  in  that  style  which  the 
learned  call  the  insipid.  This  observation  easily  led  me  into  a 
philosophic  reason  for  taking  snuff,  which  is  done  only  to  supply 
with  sensations  the  want  of  reflection.  This  I  take  to  be  an  fvpym, 
a  nostrum;  upon  which  I  hope  to  receive  the  thanks  of  this  board; 
for  as  it  is  natural  to  lift  a  man's  hand  to  a  sore,  when  you  fear 

45 


THE   TATLER 

anything  coming  at  you;  so  when  a  person  feels  his  thoughts  are 
run  out,  and  he  has  no  more  to  say,  it  is  as  natural  to  supply  his 
weak  brain  with  powder  at  the  nearest  place  of  access,  viz.  the 
nostrils.  This  is  so  evident  that  nature  suggests  the  use  accord- 
ing to  the  indigence  of  the  persons  who  take  this  medicine,  with- 
out being  prepossessed  with  the  force  of  fashion  or  custom.  For 
example;  the  native  Hibernians,  who  are  reckoned  not  much 
unlike  the  antient  Boeotians,  take  this  specific  for  emptiness  in  the 
head,  in  greater  abundance  than  any  other  nation  under  the  sun. 
The  learned  Sotus,  as  sparing  as  he  is  in  his  words,  would  be 
still  more  silent  if  it  were  not  for  this  powder. 

However  low  and  poor  the  taking  of  snuff  argues  a  man  to  be 
hi  his  own  stock  of  thoughts,  or  means  to  employ  his  brains  and  his 
fingers ;  yet  there  is  a  poorer  creature  in  the  world  than  he,  and  this 
is  a  borrower  of  snuff;  a  fellow  that  keeps  no  box  of  his  own  but  is 
always  asking  others  for  a  pinch.  Such  poor  rogues  put  me  always 
in  mind  of  a  common  phrase  among  school-boys  when  they  are 
composing  their  exercise,  who  run  to  an  upper  scholar,  and  cry, 
"  Pray  give  me  a  little  sense. "  But  of  all  things  commend  me  to 
the  ladies  who  are  got  into  this  pretty  help  to  discourse.  I  have 
been  these  three  years  persuading  Sagissa  to  leave  it  off;  but  she 
talks  so  much,  and  is  so  learned,  that  she  is  above  contradiction. 
However,  an  accident  the  other  day  brought  that  about,  which  my 
eloquence  could  never  accomplish.  She  had  a  very  pretty  fellow  in 
her  closet,  who  ran  thither  to  avoid  some  company  that  came  to 
visit  her;  she  made  an  excuse  to  go  in  to  him  for  some  implement 
they  were  talking  of.  Her  eager  gallant  snatched  a  kiss;  but, 
being  unused  to  snuff,  some  grains  from  off  her  upper  lip  made  him 
sneeze  aloud,  which  alarmed  the  visitants,  and  has  made  a  discovery, 
that  profound  reading,  very  much  intelligence,  and  a  general 
knowledge  of  who  and  who  are  together,  cannot  fill  her  vacant 
hours  so  much,  but  she  is  sometimes  obliged  to  descend  to  enter- 
tainments less  intellectual. 


THE   TATLER 

TOM    WILDAIR 

No.  60.]    SATURDAY,  AUGUST  27,  1709.    [STEELE. 

TO  proceed  regularly  in  the  history  of  my  worthies,  I  ought  to 
give  an  account  of  what  has  passed  from  day  to  day  in  this 
place;  but  a  young  fellow  of  my  acquaintance  has  so  lately  been 
rescued  out  of  the  hands  of  the  Knights  of  the  Industry,  that  I 
rather  choose  to  relate  the  manner  of  his  escape  from  them,  and 
the  uncommon  way  which  was  used  to  reclaim  him,  than  to  go  on 
in  my  intended  diary. 

You  are  to  know  then,  that  Tom  Wildair  is  a  student  of  the  Inner 
Temple,  and  has  spent  his  time,  since  he  left  the  university  for  that 
place,  in  the  common  diversions  of  men  of  fashion;  that  is  to  say, 
in  whoring,  drinking,  and  gaming.  The  two  former  vices  he  had 
from  his  father;  but  was  led  into  the  last  by  the  conversation  of  a 
partizan  of  the  Myrmidons  who  had  chambers  near  him.  His 
allowance  from  his  father  was  a  very  plentiful  one  for  a  man  of 
sense,  but  as  scanty  for  a  modern  fine  gentleman.  His  frequent 
losses  had  reduced  him  to  so  necessitous  a  condition,  that  his  lodg- 
ings were  always  haunted  by  impatient  creditors;  and  all  his 
thoughts  employed  in  contriving  low  methods  to  support  himself 
in  a  way  of  life  from  which  he  knew  not  how  to  retreat,  and  in 
which  he  wanted  means  to  proceed.  There  is  never  wanting  some 
good-natured  person  to  send  a  man  an  account  of  what  he  has  no 
mind  to  hear;  therefore  many  epistles  were  conveyed  to  the  father 
of  this  extravagant,  to  inform  him  of  the  company,  the  pleasures, 
the  distresses,  and  entertainments,  in  which  his  son  passed  his 
time.  The  old  fellow  received  these  advices  with  all  the  pain  of  a 
parent,  but  frequently  consulted  his  pillow,  to  know  how  to  behave 
himself  on  such  important  occasions,  as  the  welfare  of  his  son,  and 
the  safety  of  his  fortune.  After  many  agitations  of  mind,  he  re- 
flected, that  necessity  was  the  usual  snare  which  made  men  fall  into 
meanness,  and  that  a  liberal  fortune  generally  made  a  liberal  and 
honest  mind;  he  resolved  therefore  to  save  him  from  his  ruin,  by 
giving  him  opportunities  of  tasting  what  it  is  to  be  at  ease,  and 
inclosed  to  him  the  following  order  upon  Sir  Tristram  Cash. 


47 


THE   TATLER 

"  SIR,  —  Pray  pay  to  Mr.  Thomas  Wildair,  or  order,  the  sum 
of  one  thousand  pounds,  and  place  it  to  the  account  of  yours, 

HUMPHREY  WILDAIR." 

Tom  was  so  astonished  with  the  receipt  of  this  order,  that  though 
he  knew  it  to  be  his  father's  hand,  and  that  he  had  always  large 
sums  at  Sir  Tristram's;  yet  a  thousand  pounds  was  a  trust  of  which 
his  conduct  had  always  made  him  appear  so  little  capable,  that  he 
kept  his  note  by  him,  until  he  writ  to  his  father  the  following  letter: 

"HONOURED  FATHER,  —  I  have  received  an  order  under  your 
hand  for  a  thousand  pounds,  in  words  at  length;  and  I  think  I 
could  swear  it  is  your  own  hand.  I  have  looked  it  over  and  over 
twenty  thousand  times.  There  is  hi  plain  letters,  T,h,o,u,s,a,n,d; 
and  after  it,  the  letters  P,o,u,n,d,s.  I  have  it  still  by  me,  and  shall, 
I  believe,  continue  reading  it  until  I  hear  from  you." 

The  old  gentleman  took  no  manner  of  notice  of  the  receipt  of 
his  letter;  but  sent  him  another  order  for  three  thousand  pounds 
more.  His  amazement  on  this  second  letter  was  unspeakable. 
He  immediately  double-locked  his  door,  and  sat  down  carefully 
to  reading  and  comparing  both  his"  orders.  After  he  had  read 
them  until  he  was  half  mad,  he  walked  six  or  seven  turns  in  his 
chamber,  then  opens  his  door,  then  locks  it  again;  and,  to  examine 
thoroughly  this  matter,  he  locks  his  door  again,  puts  his  table  and 
chairs  against  it;  then  goes  into  his  closet,  and,  locking  himself  in, 
reads  his  notes  over  again  about  nineteen  times,  which  did  but 
increase  his  astonishment.  Soon  after,  he  began  to  recollect  many 
stories  he  had  formerly  heard  of  persons,  who  had  been  possessed 
with  imaginations  and  appearances  which  had  no  foundation  in 
nature,  but  had  been  taken  with  sudden  madness  in  the  midst  of  a 
seeming  clear  and  untainted  reason.  This  made  him  very  gravely 
conclude  he  was  out  of  his  wits;  and,  with  a  design  to  compose 
himself,  he  immediately  betakes  him  to  his  night-cap,  with  a  reso- 
lution to  sleep  himself  into  his  former  poverty  and  senses.  To  bed 
therefore  he  goes  at  noon -day;  but  soon  rose  again,  and  resolved  to 
visit  Sir  Tristram  upon  this  occasion.  He  did  so,  and  dined 
with  the  knight,  expecting  he  would  mention  some  advice  from 
his  father  about  paying  him  money;  but  no  such  thing  being  said, 
"Look  you,  Sir  Tristram,"  said  he,  "you  are  to  know,  that  an 
affair  has  happened,  which — "  "Look  you,"  says  Tristram,  "I 

48 


THE   TATLER 

know,  Mr.  Wildair,  you  are  going  to  desire  me  to  advance ;  but  the 
late  call  of  the  bank,  where  I  have  not  yet  made  my  last  payment, 
has  obliged  me — "  Tom  interrupted  him,  by  shewing  him  the 
bill  of  a  thousand  pounds.  When  he  had  looked  at  it  for  a  con- 
venient time,  and  as  often  surveyed  Tom's  looks  and  countenance; 
"Look  you,  Mr.  Wildair,  a  thousand  pounds — "  Before  he 
could  proceed,  he  shews  him  the  order  for  three  thousand  more  — 
Sir  Tristram  examined  the  orders  at  the  light,  and  finding  at  the 
writing  the  name,  there  was  a  certain  stroke  in  one  letter,  which 
the  father  and  he  had  agreed  should  be  to  such  directions  as  he 
desired  might  be  more  immediately  honoured,  he  forthwith  pays 
the  money.  The  possession  of  four  thousand  pounds  gave  my 
young  gentleman  a  new  train  of  thoughts:  he  began  to  reflect  upon 
his  birth,  the  great  expectations  he  was  born  to,  and  the  unsuitable 
ways  he  had  long  pursued.  Instead  of  that  unthinking  creature 
he  was  before,  he  is  now  provident,  generous,  and  discreet.  The 
father  and  son  have  an  exact  and  regular  correspondence,  with 
mutual  and  unreserved  confidence  in  each  other.  The  son  looks  upon 
his  father  as  the  best  tenant  he  could  have  hi  the  country,  and  the 
father  finds  the  son  the  most  safe  banker  he  could  have  in  the  city. 


FASHIONABLE  AFFECTATIONS 

No.  77.]    THURSDAY,  OCTOBER  6,  1709.    [STEELE.] 

AS  bad  as  the  world  is,  I  find  by  very  strict  observation  upon 
virtue  and  vice,  that  if  men  appeared  no  worse  than  they 
really  are,  I  should  have  less  work  than  at  present  I  am  obliged  to 
undertake  for  their  reformation.  They  have  generally  taken  up  a 
kind  of  inverted  ambition,  and  affect  even  faults  and  imperfections 
of  which  they  are  innocent.  The  other  day  in  a  coffee-house  I 
stood  by  a  young  heir,  with  a  fresh,  sanguine,  and  healthy  look,  who 
entertained  us  with  an  account  of  his  diet-drinks;  though,  to  my 
knowledge,  he  is  as  sound  as  any  of  his  tenants. 

This  worthy  youth  put  me  into  reflections  upon  that  subject; 
and  I  observed  the  fantastical  humour  to  be  so  general,  that  there 
is  hardly  a  man  who  is  not  more  or  less  tainted  with  it.  The  first 

49 


THE   TATLER 

of  this  order  of  men  are  the  Valetudinarians,  who  are  never  in 
health;  but  complain  of  want  of  stomach  or  rest  every  day  until 
noon,  and  then  devour  all  which  comes  before  them.  Lady 
Dainty  is  convinced,  that  it  is  necessary  for  a  gentlewoman  to 
be  out  of  order;  and,  to  preserve  that  character,  she  dines  every 
day  in  her  closet  at  twelve,  that  she  may  become  her  table  at  two, 
and  be  unable  to  eat  in  public.  About  five  years  ago,  I  remember, 
it  was  the  fashion  to  be  short-sighted.  A  man  would  not  own  an 
acquaintance  until  he  had  first  examined  him  with  his  glass.  At 
a  lady's  entrance  into  the  play-house,  you  might  see  tubes  immedi- 
ately levelled  at  her  from  every  quarter  of  the  pit  and  side-boxes. 
However,  that  mode  of  infirmity  is  out,  and  the  age  has  recovered 
its  sight:  but  the  blind  seem  to  be  succeeded  by  the  lame,  and  a 
jaunty  limp  is  the  present  beauty.  I  think  I  have  formerly  observed, 
a  cane  is  part  of  the  dress  of  a  prig,  and  always  worn  upon  a  button, 
for  fear  he  should  be  thought  to  have  an  occasion  for  it,  or  be 
esteemed  really,  and  not  genteelly,  a  cripple.  I  have  considered, 
but  could  never  find  out,  the  bottom  of  this  vanity.  I  indeed  have 
heard  of  a  Gascon  general,  who,  by  the  lucky  grazing  of  a  bullet 
on  the  roll  of  his  stocking,  took  occasion  to  halt  all  his  life  after. 
But  as  for  our  peaceable  cripples,  I  know  no  foundation  for  their 
behaviour,  without  it  may  be  supposed  that,  in  this  warlike  age, 
some  think  a  cane  the  next  honour  to  a  wooden  leg.  This  sort  of 
affectation  I  have  known  run  from  one  limb  or  member  to  another. 
Before  the  limpers  came  in,  I  remember  a  race  of  lispers,  fine 
persons,  who  took  an  aversion  to  particular  letters  in  our  language. 
Some  never  uttered  the  letter  H ;  and  others  had  as  mortal  an  aver- 
sion to  S.  Others  have  had  their  fashionable  defect  in  their  ears, 
and  would  make  you  repeat  all  you  said  twice  over.  I  know  an 
ancient  friend  of  mine,  whose  table  is  every  day  surrounded  with 
flatterers,  that  makes  use  of  this,  sometimes  as  a  piece  of  grandeur, 
and  at  others  as  an  art,  to  make  them  repeat  their  commendations. 
Such  affectations  have  been  indeed  hi  the  world  in  ancient  times; 
but  they  fell  into  them  out  of  politic  ends.  Alexander  the  Great 
had  a  wry  neck,  which  made  it  the  fashion  in  his  court  to  carry 
their  heads  on  one  side  when  they  came  into  the  presence.  One 
who  thought  to  outshine  the  whole  court,  carried  his  head  so  over 
complaisantly,  that  this  martial  prince  gave  him  so  great  a  box  on 
the  ear,  as  set  all  the  heads  of  the  court  upright. 
This  humour  takes  place  in  our  minds  as  well  as  bodies.  I 

5° 


THE   TATLER 

know  at  this  time  a  young  gentlemen,  who  talks  atheistically  all 
day  in  coffee-houses,  and  in  his  degrees  of  understanding  sets  up 
for  a  Free-thinker;  though  it  can  be  proved  upon  him,  he  says  his 
prayers  every  morning  and  evening.  But  this  class  of  modern 
wits  I  shall  reserve  for  a  chapter  by  itself. 

Of  the  like  turn  are  all  your  marriage-haters,  who  rail  at  the 
noose,  at  the  words,  "for  ever  and  aye,"  and  at  the  same  time 
are  secretly  pining  for  some  young  thing  or  other  that  makes  their 
hearts  ache  by  her  refusal.  The  next  to  these,  are  such  as  pretend 
to  govern  their  wives,  and  boast  how  ill  they  use  them;  when  at 
the  same  time,  go  to  their  houses,  and  you  shall  see  them  step  as 
if  they  feared  making  a  noise,  and  as  fond  as  an  alderman.  I  do 
not  know  but  sometimes  these  pretences  may  arise  from  a  desire 
to  conceal  a  contrary  defect  than  that  they  set  up  for.  I  remember, 
when  I  was  a  young  fellow,  we  had  a  companion  of  a  very  fearful 
complexion,  who,  when  we  sat  in  to  drink,  would  desire  us  to  take 
his  sword  from  him  when  he  grew  fuddled,  for  it  was  his  misfortune 
to  be  quarrelsome. 

There  are  many,  many  of  these  evils,  which  demand  my  obser- 
vation; but  because  I  have  of  late  been  thought  somewhat  too 
satirical,  I  shall  give  them  warning,  and  declare  to  the  whole 
world,  that  they  are  not  true,  but  false  hypocrites;  and  make  it  out 
that  they  are  good  men  in  their  hearts.  The  motive  of  this  mon- 
strous affectation,  in  the  above-mentioned  and  the  like  particulars, 
I  take  to  proceed  from  that  noble  thirst  of  fame  and  reputation 
which  is  planted  in  the  hearts  of  all  men.  As  this  produces  elegant 
writings  and  gallant  actions  in  men  of  great  abilities,  it  also  brings 
forth  spurious  productions  in  men  who  are  not  capable  of  distin- 
guishing themselves  by  things  which  are  really  praise-worthy.  As 
the  desire  of  fame  in  men  of  true  wit  and  gallantry  shews  itself  in 
proper  instances,  the  same  desire  in  men  who  have  the  ambition 
without  proper  faculties,  runs  wild,  and  discovers  itself  in  a  thousand 
extravagances,  by  which  they  would  signalize  themselves  from 
others,  and  gain  a  set  of  admirers.  When  I  was  a  middle-aged 
man,  there  were  many  societies  of  ambitious  young  men  in  Eng- 
land, who,  in  their  pursuits  after  fame,  were  every  night  employed 
in  roasting  porters,  smoaking  coblers,  knocking  down  watchmen, 
overturning  constables,  breaking  windows,  blackening  sign-posts, 
and  the  like  immortal  enterprizes,  that  dispersed  their  reputation 
throughout  the  whole  kingdom.  One  could  hardly  find  a  knocker 

51 


THE   TATLER 

at  a  door  in  a  whole  street  after  a  midnight  expedition  of  these 
Beaux  Esprits.  I  was  lately  very  much  surprised  by  an  account 
of  my  maid,  who  entered  my  bed-chamber  this  morning  in  a  very 
great  fright,  and  told  me,  she  was  afraid  my  parlour  was  haunted ; 
for  that  she  had  found  several  panes  of  my  windows  broken,  and 
the  floor  strewed  with  half-pence.  I  have  not  yet  a  full  light  into 
this  new  way,  but  am  apt  to  think,  that  it  is  a  generous  piece  of 
wit  that  some  of  my  contemporaries  make  use  of,  to  break  windows, 
and  leave  money  to  pay  for  them. 


MARRIAGE   OF   JENNY   DISTAFF 

No.  79.]    TUESDAY,  OCTOBER  n,  1709.    [STEELE.] 

Felices,  ter  et  amplius, 

Quos  irrupta  tenet  copula;  nee  mails 

Divulsus  querimoniis, 

Suprema  citius  solvet  amor  die. 

HOR.  x  Od.  jriii.  17. 

Thrice  happy  they,  in  pure  delights 
Whom  love  in  mutual  bonds  unites, 
Unbroken  by  complaints  or  strife 
Even  to  the  latest  hours  of  life. 

MY  sister  Jenny's  lover,  the  honest  Tranquillus,  for  that  shall 
be  his  name,  has  been  impatient  with  me  to  dispatch  the 
necessary  directions  for  his  marriage;  that  while  I  am  taken  up  with 
imaginary  schemes,  as  he  calls  them,  he  might  not  burn  with  real 
desire,  and  the  torture  of  expectation.  When  I  had  reprimanded 
him  for  the  ardour  wherein  he  expressed  himself,  which  I  thought 
had  not  enough  of  that  veneration  with  which  the  marriage-bed  is 
to  be  ascended,  I  told  him,  "  the  day  of  his  nuptials  should  be  on 
the  Saturday  following,  which  was  the  eighth  instant. "  On  the 
seventh  in  the  evening,  poor  Jenny  came  into  my  chamber,  and, 
having  her  heart  full  of  the  great  change  of  life  from  a  virgin  con- 
dition to  that  of  a  wife,  she  long  sat  silent.  I  saw  she  expected  me 
to  entertain  her  on  this  important  subject,  which  was  too  delicate  a 
circumstance  for  herself  to  touch  upon;  whereupon  I  relieved  her 
modesty  in  the  following  manner:  "Sister,"  said  I,  "you  are  now 
going  from  me:  and  be  contented,  that  you  leave  the  company  of  a 

52 


THE   TATLER 

talkative  old  man,  for  that  of  a  sober  young  one:  but  take  this  along 
with  you,  that  there  is  no  mean  in  the  state  you  are  entering  into, 
but  you  are  to  be  exquisitely  happy  or  miserable,  and  your  fortune 
in  this  way  of  life  will  be  wholly  of  your  own  making.  In  all  the 
marriages  I  have  ever  seen,  most  of  which  have  been  unhappy  ones, 
the  great  cause  of  evil  has  proceeded  from  slight  occasions;  and  I 
take  it  to  be  the  first  maxim  in  a  married  condition,  that  you  are 
be  above  trifles.  When  two  persons  have  so  good  an  opinion  of 
each  other  as  to  come  together  for  life,  they  will  not  differ  in  matters 
of  importance,  because  they  think  of  each  other  with  respect;  and 
in  regard  to  all  things  of  consideration  that  may  affect  them,  they 
are  prepared  for  mutual  assistance  and  relief  in  such  occurrences. 
For  less  occasions,  they  form  no  resolutions,  but  leave  their  minds 
unprepared. 

"This,  dear  Jenny,  is  the  reason  that  the  quarrel  between  Sir 
Harry  Willit  and  his  lady,  which  began  about  her  squirrel,  is  irre- 
concilable. Sir  Harry  was  reading  a  grave  author;  she  runs  into 
his  study,  and,  in  a  playing  humour,  claps  the  squirrel  upon  the 
folio:  he  threw  the  animal  in  a  rage  on  the  floor;  she  snatches  it 
up  again,  calls  Sir  Harry  a  sour  pedant,  without  good  nature  or 
good  manners.  This  cast  him  into  such  a  rage,  that  he  threw 
down  the  table  before  him,  kicked  the  book  round  the  room;  then 
recollected  himself:  'Lord,  madam,'  said  he,  'why  did  you  run 
into  such  expressions?  I  was,'  said  he,  'in  the  highest  delight 
with  that  author,  when  you  clapped  your  squirrel  upon  my  book;' 
and,  smiling,  added  upon  recollection,  'I  have  a  great  respect  for 
your  favourite,  and  pray  let  us  all  be  friends.'  My  lady  was  so 
far  from  accepting  this  apology,  that  she  immediately  conceived  a 
resolution  to  keep  him  under  for  ever;  and,  with  a  serious  air, 
replied,  'There  is  no  regard  to  be  had  to  what  a  man  says,  who 
can  fall  into  so  indecent  a  rage,  and  such  an  abject  submission,  in 
the  same  moment,  for  which  I  absolutely  despise  you.'  Upon 
which  she  rushed  out  of  the  room.  Sir  Harry  staid  some  minutes 
behind,  to  think  and  command  himself;  after  which  he  followed 
her  into  her  bed-chamber,  where  she  was  prostrate  upon  the  bed, 
tearing  her  hair,  and  naming  twenty  coxcombs  who  would  have 
used  her  otherwise.  This  provoked  him  to  so  high  a  degree,  that 
he  forbore  nothing  but  beating  her;  and  all  the  servants  in  the 
family  were  at  their  several  stations  listening,  whilst  the  best  man 
and  woman,  the  best  master  and  mistress,  defamed  each  other  in  a 

53 


THE   TATLER 

way  that  is  not  to  be  repeated  even  at  Billingsgate.  You  know 
this  ended  in  an  immediate  separation:  she  longs  to  return  home 
but  knows  not  how  to  do  it:  he  invites  her  home  every  day,  and 
lies  with  every  woman  he  can  get.  Her  husband  requires  no  sub- 
mission of  her;  but  she  thinks  her  very  return  will  argue  she  is  to 
blame,  which  she  is  resolved  to  be  for  ever,  rather  than  acknowledge 
it.  Thus,  dear  Jenny,  my  great  advice  to  you  is,  be  guarded  against 
giving  or  receiving  little  provocations.  Great  matters  of  offence 
I  have  no  reason  to  fear  either  from  you  or  your  husband. " 

After  this,  we  turned  our  discourse  into  a  more  gay  style,  and 
parted :  but  before  we  did  so,  I  made  her  resign  her  snuff-box  for 
ever,  and  half  drown  herself  with  washing  away  the  stench  of  the 
musty. 

But  the  wedding  morning  arrived,  and  our  family  being  very 
numerous,  there  was  no  avoiding  the  inconvenience  of  making 
the  ceremony  and  festival  more  public,  than  the  modern  way  of 
celebrating  them  makes  me  approve  of.  The  bride  next  morning 
came  out  of  her  chamber,  dressed  with  all  the  art  and  care  that 
Mrs.  Toilet,  the  tire-woman,  could  bestow  on  her.  She  was  on  her 
wedding-day  three-and-twenty :  her  person  is  far  from  what  we  call 
a  regular  beauty;  but  a  certain  sweetness  in  her  countenance,  an 
ease  in  her  shape  and  motion,  with  an  unaffected  modesty  in  her 
looks,  had  attractions  beyond  what  symmetry  and  exactness  can 
inspire,  without  the  addition  of  these  endowments.  When  her 
lover  entered  the  room,  her  features  flushed  with  shame  and  joy; 
and  the  ingenuous  manner,  so  full  of  passion  and  of  awe,  with  which 
Tranquillus  approached  to  salute  her,  gave  me  good  omens  of  his 
future  behaviour  towards  her.  The  wedding  was  wholly  under 
my  care.  After  the  ceremony  at  church,  I  was  resolved  to  enter- 
tain the  company  with  a  dinner  suitable  to  the  occasion,  and  pitched 
upon  the  Apollo,  at  the  Old-Devil  at  Temple-Bar,  as  a  place  sacred 
to  mirth  tempered  with  discretion,  where  Ben  Jonson  and  his  sons 
used  to  make  their  liberal  meetings.  Here  the  chief  of  the  Staffian 
race  appeared;  and  as  soon  as  the  company  were  come  into  that 
ample  room,  Lepidus  Wagstaff  began  to  make  me  compliments  for 
choosing  that  place,  and  fell  into  a  discourse  upon  the  subject  of 
pleasure  and  entertainment,  drawn  from  the  rules  of  Ben's  club, 
which  are  in  gold  letters  over  the  chimney.  Lepidus  has  a  way  very 
uncommon,  and  speaks  on  subjects  on  which  any  man  else  would 
certainly  offend,  with  great  dexterity.  He  gave  us  a  large  account 

54 


THE   TATLER 

of  the  public  meetings  of  all  the  well-turned  minds  who  had  passed 
through  this  life  in  ages  past,  and  closed  his  pleasing  narrative  with 
a  discourse  on  marriage,  and  a  repetition  of  the  following  verses  out 
of  Milton. 

"Hail,  wedded  love!  mysterious  law!  true  source 
Of  human  offspring,  sole  propriety 
In  paradise,  of  all  things  common  else. 
By  thee  adult'rous  lust  was  driven  from  men 
Among  the  bestial  herds  to  range;  by  thee, 
Founded  in  reason,  loyal,  just  and  pure, 
Relations  dear,  and  all  the  charities 
Of  father,  son,  and  brother,  first  were  known. 
Perpetual  fountain  of  domestic  sweets, 
Whose  bed  is  undefil'd  and  chaste  pronounc'd, 
Present  or  past,  as  saints  or  patriarchs  us'd. 
Here  Love  his  golden  shafts  employs;  here  lights 
His  constant  lamp,  and  waves  his  purple  wings: 
Reigns  here,  and  revels  not  in  the  bought  smile 
Of  harlots,  loveless,  joyless,  unendcar'd, 
Casual  fruition;  nor  in  court  amours, 
Mix'd  dance,  or  wanton  mask,  or  midnight  ball, 
Or  serenade,  which  the  starv'd  lover  sings 
To  his  proud  fair,  best  quitted  with  disdain." 

In  these  verses,  all  the  images  that  can  come  into  a  young  woman's 
head  on  such  an  occasion  are  raised;  but  that  in  so  chaste  and 
elegant  a  manner,  that  the  bride  thanked  him  for  his  agreeable 
talk,  and  we  sat  down  to  dinner. 

Among  the  rest  of  the  company,  there  was  got  in  a  fellow  you  call 
a  Wag.  This  ingenious  person  is  the  usual  life  of  all  feasts  and 
merriments,  by  speaking  absurdities,  and  putting  everybody  of 
breeding  and  modesty  out  of  countenance.  As  soon  as  we  sat 
down,  he  drank  to  the  bride's  diversion  that  night;  and  then  made 
twenty  double  meanings  on  the  word  thing.  We  are  the  best-bred 
family,  for  one  so  numerous,  in  this  kingdom;  and  indeed  we 
should  all  of  us  have  been  as  much  out  of  countenance  as  the  bride, 
but  that  we  were  relieved  by  an  honest  rough  relation  of  ours  at  the 
lower  end  of  the  table,  who  is  a  lieutenant  of  marines.  The  soldier 
and  sailor  had  good  plain  sense,  and  saw  what  was  wrong  as  well 
as  another;  he  had  a  way  of  looking  at  his  plate,  and  speaking 
aloud  in  an  inward  manner;  and  whenever  the  Wag  mentioned  the 
word  thing,  or  the  words,  that  same,  the  lieutenant  in  that  voice 
cried,  "Knock  him  down."  The  merry  man,  wondering,  angry, 

55 


THE   TATLER 

and  looking  round,  was  the  diversion  of  the  table.  When  he 
offered  to  recover,  and  say,  "To  the  bride's  best  thoughts,"  "  Knock 
him  down,"  says  the  lieutenant,  and  so  on.  This  silly  humour 
diverted,  and  saved  us  from  the  fulsome  entertainment  of  an  ill- 
bred  coxcomb;  and  the  bride  drank  the  lieutenant's  health.  We 
returned  to  my  lodging,  and  Tranquillus  led  his  wife  to  her  apart- 
ment, without  the  ceremony  of  throwing  the  stocking. 


SCENE   OF   COUNTRY    ETIQUETTE 

No.    86.]    THURSDAY,  OCTOBER    27,    1709.     [ADDISON   AND 

STEELE.] 

WHEN  I  came  home  last  night,  my  servant  delivered  me 
the  following  letter: 

Oct.  24. 

"SiR, —  I  have  orders  from  Sir  Harry  Quickset,  of  Staffordshire, 
Bart.,  to  acquaint  you,  that  his  honour  Sir  Harry  himself,  Sir  Giles 
Wheelbarrow,  Knt.,  Thomas  Rentfree,  Esq.,  justice  of  the  quorum, 
Andrew  Windmill,  Esq.,  and  Mr.  Nicholas  Doubt  of  the  Inner 
Temple,  Sir  Harry's  grandson,  will  wait  upon  you  at  the  hour  of 
nine  to-morrow  morning,  being  Tuesday  the  25th  of  October, 
upon  business  which  Sir  Harry  will  impart  to  you  by  word  of 
mouth.  I  thought  it  proper  to  acquaint  you  before-hand  so  many 
persons  of  quality  came,  that  you  might  not  be  surprised  there- 
with. Which  concludes,  though  by  many  years'  absence  since  I 
saw  you  at  Stafford,  unknown, 

"  Sir,  your  most  humble  servant, 

"JOHN  THRIFTY." 

I  received  this  message  with  less  surprise  than  I  believe  Mr. 
Thrifty  imagined;  for  I  knew  the  good  company  too  well  to  feel 
any  palpitations  at  their  approach:  but  I  was  in  very  great  con- 
cern how  I  should  adjust  the  ceremonial,  and  demean  myself  to 
all  these  great  men,  who  perhaps  had  not  seen  anything  above 
themselves  for  these  twenty  years  last  past.  I  am  sure  that  is  the 
case  of  Sir  Harry.  Besides  which,  I  was  sensible  that  there  was  a 
great  point  in  adjusting  my  behaviour  to  the  simple  squire,  so  as 
to  give  him  satisfaction,  and  not  disoblige  the  justice  of  the  quorum. 

56 


THE   TATLER 

The  hour  of  nine  was  come  this  morning,  and  I  had  no  sooner 
set  chairs  (by  the  stewards'  letter)  and  fixed  my  tea  equipage, 
but  I  heard  a  knock  at  my  door,  which  was  opened,  but  no  one 
entered;  after  which  followed  a  long  silence,  which  was  broke  at 
last  by,  "Sir,  I  beg  your  pardon;  I  think  I  know  better:"  and 
another  voice,  "Nay,  good  Sir  Giles — "  I  looked  out  from  my 
window,  and  saw  the  good  company  all  with  their  hats  off,  and 
arms  spread,  offering  the  door  to  each  other.  After  many  offers, 
they  entered  with  much  solemnity,  in  the  order  Mr.  Thrifty  was  so 
kind  as  to  name  them  to  me.  But  they  are  now  got  to  my  chamber 
door,  and  I  saw  my  old  friend  Sir  Harry  enter.  I  met  him  with 
all  the  respect  due  to  so  reverend  a  vegetable ;  for  you  are  to  know, 
that  is  my  sense  of  a  person  who  remains  idle  in  the  same  place 
for  half  a  century.  I  got  him  with  great  success  into  his  chair 
by  the  fire,  without  throwing  down  any  of  my  cups.  The  knight- 
bachelor  told  me,  he  had  a  great  respect  for  my  whole  family,  and 
would,  with  my  leave,  place  himself  next  to  Sir  Harry,  at  whose 
right  hand  he  had  sat  at  every  quarter-sessions  this  thirty  years, 
unless  he  was  sick.  The  steward  in  the  rear  whispered  the  young 
Templar,  "That  is  true  to  my  knowledge."  I  had  the  misfor- 
tune, as  they  stood  cheek  by  jole,  to  desire  the  squire  to  sit  down 
before  the  justice  of  the  quorum,  to  the  no  small  satisfaction  oi  the 
former,  and  resentment  of  the  latter:  but  I  saw  my  error  too  late, 
and  got  them  as  soon  as  I  could  into  their  seats.  "  Well,  (said  I,) 
gentlemen,  after  I  have  told  you  how  glad  I  am  of  this  great  hon- 
our, I  am  to  desire  you  to  drink  a  dish  of  tea. "  They  answered, 
one  and  all,  that  "  They  never  drank  tea  in  a  morning. "  "  Not  in 
a  morning!"  said  I,  staring  round  me.  Upon  which  the  pert 
jackanapes  Nick  Doubt  tipped  me  the  wink,  and  put  out  his 
tongue  at  his  grandfather.  Here  followed  a  profound  silence, 
when  the  steward  in  his  boots  and  whip  proposed  that  we  should 
adjourn  to  some  public-house,  where  everybody  might  call  for 
what  they  pleased,  and  enter  upon  the  business.  We  all  stood 
up  in  an  instant,  and  Sir  Harry  filed  off  from  the  left  very  dis- 
creetly, counter-marching  behind  the  chairs  towards  the  door: 
after  him,  Sir  Giles  in  the  same  manner.  The  simple  squire  made 
a  sudden  start  to  follow;  but  the  justice  of  the  quorum  whipped 
between  upon  the  stand  of  the  stairs.  A  maid  going  up  with 
coals  made  us  halt,  and  put  us  into  such  confusion,  that  we  stood 
all  in  a  heap,  without  any  visible  possibility  of  recovering  our 

57 


THE   TATLER 

order:  for  the  young  jackanapes  seemed  to  make  a  jest  of  this 
matter,  and  had  so  contrived,  by  pressing  amongst  us  under  pre- 
tence of  making  way,  that  his  grandfather  was  got  into  the  middle, 
and  he  knew  nobody  was  of  quality  to  stir  a  step,  till  Sir  Harry 
moved  first.  We  were  fixed  hi  this  perplexity  for  some  time,  till 
we  heard  a  very  loud  noise  in  the  street;  and  Sir  Harry  asking 
what  it  was,  I,  to  make  them  move,  said  it  was  fire.  Upon  this, 
all  run  down  as  fast  as  they  could,  without  order  or  ceremony, 
till  we  got  into  the  street,  where  we  drew  up  in  very  good  order, 
and  filed  off  down  Sheer  Lane,  the  impertinent  Templar  driving 
us  before  him,  as  in  a  string,  and  pointing  to  his  acquaintance 
who  passed  by. 

I  must  confess,  I  love  to  use  people  according  to  their  own  sense 
of  good  breeding,  and  therefore  whipped  in  between  the  justice 
and  the  simple  squire.  He  could  not  properly  take  this  ill;  but 
I  overheard  him  whisper  the  steward,  "That  he  thought  it  hard 
that  a  common  conjurer  should  take  place  of  him,  though  an 
elder  squire.  "  In  this  order  we  marched  down  Sheer  Lane,  at  the 
upper  end  of  which  I  lodge.  When  we  came  to  Temple  Bar,  Sir 
Harry  and  Sir  Giles  got  over;  but  a  run  of  coaches  kept  the  rest 
of  us  on  this  side  the  street:  however,  we  all  at  last  landed,  and 
drew  up  hi  very  good  order  before  Ben.  Tooke's  shop,  who  fav- 
oured our  rallying  with  great  humanity.  From  hence  we  proceeded 
again,  till  we  came  to  Dick's  Coffee-house,  where  I  designed  to 
carry  them.  Here  we  were  at  our  old  difficulty,  and  took  up  the 
street  upon  the  same  ceremony.  We  proceeded  through  the  entry, 
and  were  so  necessarily  kept  in  order  by  the  situation,  that  we  were 
now  got  into  the  coffee-house  itself,  where,  as  soon  as  we  arrived, 
we  repeated  our  civilities  to  each  other;  after  which,  we  marched 
up  to  the  high  table,  which  has  an  ascent  to  it  enclosed  in  the 
middle  of  the  room.  The  whole  house  was  alarmed  at  this  entry, 
made  up  of  persons  of  so  much  state  and  rusticity.  Sir  Harry 
called  for  a  mug  of  ale,  and  Dyer's  Letter.  The  boy  brought  the 
ale  hi  an  instant:  but  said,  they  did  not  take  in  the  Letter.  "No! 
(says  Sir  Harry,)  then  take  back  your  mug;  we  are  like  indeed  to 
have  good  liquor  at  this  house."  Here  the  Templar  tipped  me 
a  second  wink,  and  if  I  had  not  looked  very  grave  upon  him,  I 
found  he  was  disposed  to  be  very  familiar  with  me.  In  short,  I 
observed  after  a  long  pause,  that  the  gentlemen  did  not  care  to  enter 
upon  business  till  after  their  morning  draught,  for  which  reason 

58 


THE   TATLER 

I  called  for  a  bottle  of  mum;  and  finding  that  had  no  effect  upon 
them,  I  ordered  a  second,  and  a  third:  after  which,  Sir  Harry 
reached  over  to  me,  and  told  me  in  a  low  voice,  that  the  place  was 
too  public  for  business ;  but  he  would  call  upon  me  again  to-morrow 
morning  at  my  own  lodgings,  and  bring  some  more  friends  with 
him. 


A   DANCING-MASTER    PRACTISING   BY 
BOOK 

No.  88.]    TUESDAY,  NOVEMBER  i,  1709.    [ADDISON.] 

I  WAS  this  morning  awakened  by  a  sudden  shake  of  the  house ; 
and  as  soon  as  I  had  got  a  little  out  of  my  consternation,  I  felt 
another,  which  was  followed  by  two  or  three  repetitions  of  the 
same  convulsion.  I  got  up  as  fast  as  possible,  girt  on  my  rapier, 
and  snatched  up  my  hat,  when  my  landlady  came  up  to  me,  and 
told  me  that  the  gentlewoman  of  the  next  house  begged  me  to  step 
thither;  for  that  a  lodger  she  had  taken  in  was  run  mad,  and  she 
desired  my  advice ;  as  indeed  everybody  in  the  whole  lane  does  upon 
important  occasions.  I  am  not,  like  some  artists,  saucy,  because 
I  can  be  beneficial,  but  went  immediately.  Our  neighbour  told 
us,  she  had  the  day  before  let  her  second  floor  to  a  very  genteel, 
youngish  man,  who  told  her  he  kept  extraordinary  good  hours, 
and  was  generally  at  home  most  part  of  the  morning  and  evening 
at  study;  but  that  this  morning  he  had  for  an  hour  together  made 
this  extravagant  noise  which  we  then  heard.  I  went  upstairs  with 
my  hand  upon  the  hilt  of  my  rapier,  and  approached  this  new 
logder's  door.  I  looked  in  at  the  key-hole,  and  there  I  saw  a  well- 
made  man  look  with  great  attention  on  a  book,  and  on  a  sudden 
jump  into  the  air  so  high,  that  his  head  almost  touched  the  ceiling. 
He  came  down  safe  on  his  right  foot,  and  again  flew  up,  alighting 
on  his  left ;  then  looked  again  at  his  book,  and  holding  out  his  right 
leg,  put  it  into  such  a  quivering  motion,  that  I  thought  he  would 
have  shaked  it  off.  He  used  the  left  after  the  same  manner;  when 
on  a  sudden,  to  my  great  surprise,  he  stooped  himself  incredibly 
low,  and  turned  gently  on  his  toes.  After  this  circular  motion,  he 
continued  bent  in  that  humble  posture  for  some  time,  looking  on 

59 


THE   TATLER 

his  book.  After  this  he  recovered  himself  by  a  sudden  spring, 
and  flew  round  the  room  in  all  the  violence  and  disorder  imaginable, 
till  he  made  a  full  pause  for  want  of  breath.  In  this  interim  my 
woman  asked  what  I  thought:  I  whispered,  that  I  thought  this 
learned  person  an  enthusiast,  who  possibly  had  his  first  education 
hi  the  peripatetic  way,  which  was  a  sect  of  philosophers  who  always 
studied  when  walking.  But  observing  him  much  out  of  breath,  I 
thought  it  the  best  time  to  master  him  if  he  were  disordered,  and 
knocked  at  his  door.  I  was  surprised  to  find  him  open  it,  and 
say,  with  great  civility  and  good  mien,  "That  he  hoped  he  had  not 
disturbed  us."  I  believed  him  in  a  lucid  interval,  and  desired  he 
would  please  to  let  me  see  his  book.  He  did  so,  smiling.  I  could 
not  make  anything  of  it,  and  therefore  asked  in  what  language  it 
was  writ.  He  said,  "It  was  one  he  studied  with  great  application; 
but  it  was  his  profession  to  teach  it,  and  could  not  communicate 
his  knowledge  without  a  consideration."  I  answered,  "That  I 
hoped  he  would  hereafter  keep  his  thoughts  to  himself;  for  his 
meditation  this  morning  had  cost  me  three  coffee  dishes,  and  a  clean 
pipe.  He  seemed  concerned  at  that,  and  told  me  he  was  a  dancing- 
master,  and  had  been  reading  a  dance  or  two  before  he  went  out, 
which  had  been  written  by  one  who  taught  at  an  academy  in 
France.  He  observed  me  at  a  stand,  and  went  on  to  inform  me, 
"That  now  articulate  motions,  as  well  as  sounds,  were  expressed 
by  proper  characters;  and  that  there  is  nothing  so  common  as  to 
communicate  a  dance  by  a  letter. "  I  beseeched  him  hereafter  to 
meditate  in  a  ground-room,  for  that  otherwise  it  would  be  impos- 
sible for  an  artist  of  any  other  kind  to  live  near  him;  and  that  I  was 
sure,  several  of  his  thoughts  this  morning  would  have  shaken  my 
spectacles  off  my  nose,  had  I  been  myself  at  study. 

I  then  took  my  leave  of  this  virtuoso,  and  returned  to  my 
chamber,  meditating  on  the  various  occupations  of  rational 
creatures. 


60 


THE   TATLER 

APPLICATIONS   FOR   PERMISSON   TO 
USE   CANES,   ETC. 

No.  103.]    TUESDAY,  DECEMBER  6,  1709.    [ADDISON  AND 
STEELE.] 

—  Hae  nugae  seria  ducunt 
In  mala,  derisum  semel  exceptumque  sinistrd.  —  HOE. 

THERE  is  nothing  gives  a  man  greater  satisfaction,  than  the 
sense  of  having  despatched  a  great  deal  of  business,  espe- 
cially when  it  turns  to  the  public  emolument.  I  have  much  plea- 
sure of  this  kind  upon  my  spirits  at  present,  occasioned  by  the 
fatigue  of  affairs  which  I  went  through  last  Saturday.  It  is  some 
time  since  I  set  apart  that  day  for  examining  the  pretensions  of 
several  who  had  applied  to  me  for  canes,  perspective-glasses, 
snuff-boxes,  orange-flower-waters,  and  the  like  ornaments  of  life. 
In  order  to  adjust  this  matter,  I  had  before  directed  Charles 
Lillie,  of  Beaufort  Buildings,  to  prepare  a  great  bundle  of  blank 
licences  in  the  following  words: 

"You  are  hereby  required  to  permit  the  bearer  of  this  cane  to 
pass  and  repass  through  the  streets  and  suburbs  of  London,  or  any 
place  within  ten  miles  of  it,  without  let  or  molestation:  provided 
that  he  does  not  walk  with  it  under  his  arm,  brandish  it  in  the  air, 
or  hang  it  on  a  button:  in  which  case  it  shall  be  forfeited;  and  I 
hereby  declare  it  forfeited  to  any  one  who  shall  think  it  safe  to  take 
it  from  him. 

"ISAAC  BlCKERSTAFFE." 

The  same  form,  differing  only  in  the  provisos,  will  serve  for  a 
perspective,  snuff-box,  or  perfumed  handkerchief.  I  had  placed 
myself  in  my  elbow-chair  at  the  upper  end  of  my  great  parlour, 
having  ordered  Charles  Lillie  to  take  his  place  upon  a  joint-stool 
with  a  writing-desk  before  him.  John  Morphew  also  took  his 
station  at  the  door;  I  having,  for  his  good  and  faithful  services, 
appointed  him  my  chamber-keeper  upon  court  days.  He  let  me 
know,  that  there  were  a  great  number  attending  without.  Upon 
which  I  ordered  him  to  give  notice,  that  I  did  not  intend  to  sit  upon 

61 


THE   TATLER 

snuff-boxes  that  day;  but  that  those  who  appeared  for  canes  might 
enter.  The  first  presented  me  with  the  following  petition,  which 
I  ordered  Mr.  Lillie  to  read. 

"To  Isaac  Bickerstaffe,  Esq.,  Censor  of  Great  Britain. 

"The  humble  Petition  of  Simon  Trippit, 
"  Showeth, 

"That  your  petitioner  having  been  bred  up  to  a  cane  from  his 
youth,  it  is  now  become  as  necessary  to  him  as  any  other  of  his 
limbs. 

"That  a  great  part  of  his  behaviour  depending  upon  it,  he  should 
be  reduced  to  the  utmost  necessities  if  he  should  lose  the  use  of  it. 

"  That  the  knocking  of  it  upon  his  shoe,  leaning  one  leg  upon  it, 
or  whistling  with  it  on  his  mouth,  are  such  great  reliefs  to  him  in 
conversation,  that  he  does  not  know  how  to  be  good  company 
without  it. 

"  That  he  is  at  present  engaged  in  an  armour,  and  must  despair 
of  success,  if  it  be  taken  from  him. 

"Your  petitioner  therefore  hopes,  that  (the  premises  tenderly 
considered)  your  Worship  will  not  deprive  him  of  so  useful  and 
so  necessary  a  support. 

"And  your  petitioner  shall  ever,"  &c. 

Upon  the  hearing  of  his  case,  I  was  touched  with  some  compas- 
sion, and  the  more  so,  when  upon  observing  him  nearer  I  found 
he  was  a  prig.  I  bid  him  produce  his  cane  in  court,  which  he  had 
left  at  the  door.  He  did  so,  and  I  finding  it  to  be  very  curiously 
clouded,  with  a  transparent  amber  head,  and  a  blue  ribbon  to 
hang  upon  his  wrist,  I  immediately  ordered  my  clerk  Lillie  to  lay 
it  up,  and  deliver  out  to  him  a  plain  joint,  headed  with  walnut; 
and  then,  in  order  to  wean  him  from  it  by  degrees,  permitted 
him  to  wear  it  three  days  in  the  week,  and  to  abate  proportiona- 
bly  till  he  found  himself  able  to  go  alone. 

The  second  who  appeared,  came  limping  into  the  court:  and 
setting  forth  in  his  petition  many  pretences  for  the  use  of  a  cane, 
I  caused  them  to  be  examined  one  by  one;  but  finding  him  in  dif- 
ferent stories,  and  confronting  him  with  several  witnesses  who  had 
seen  him  walk  upright,  I  ordered  Mr.  Lillie  to  take  in  his  cane, 
and  rejected  his  petition  as  frivolous. 

62 


THE   TATLER 

A  third  made  his  entry  with  great  difficulty,  leaning  upon  a 
slight  stick,  and  in  danger  of  falling  every  step  he  took.  I  saw 
the  weakness  of  his  hams;  and  hearing  that  he  had  married  a 
young  wife  about  a  fortnight  before,  I  bid  him  leave  his  cane,  and 
gave  him  a  new  pair  of  crutches,  with  which  he  went  off  in  great 
vigour  and  alacrity.  This  gentleman  was  succeeded  by  another, 
who  seemed  very  much  pleased  while  his  petition  was  reading,  hi 
which  he  had  represented,  that  he  was  extremely  afflicted  with  the 
gout,  and  set  his  foot  upon  the  ground  with  the  caution  and  dig- 
nity  which  accompany  that  distemper.  I  suspected  him  ior  an 
impostor,  and  having  ordered  him  to  be  searched,  I  committed 
him  into  the  hands  of  Dr.  Thomas  Smith  in  King  Street,  (my  own 
corn-cutter,)  who  attended  in  an  outward  room;  and  wrought  so 
speedy  a  cure  upon  him,  that  I  thought  fit  to  send  him  also  away 
without  his  cane. 

While  I  was  thus  dispensing  justice,  I  heard  a  noise  in  my  out- 
ward room;  and  inquiring  what 'was  the  occasion  of  it,  my  door- 
keeper told  me,  that  they  had  taken  up  one  in  the  very  fact  as  he 
was  passing  by  my  door.  They  immediately  brought  in  a  lively, 
fresh-coloured  young  man,  who  made  great  resistance  with  hand 
and  foot,  but  did  not  offer  to  make  use  of  his  cane,  which  hung 
upon  his  fifth  button.  Upon  examination,  I  found  him  to  be  an 
Oxford  scholar,  who  was  just  entered  at  the  Temple.  He  at  first 
disputed  the  jurisdiction  of  the  court;  but  being  driven  out  of  his 
little  law  and  logic,  he  told  me  very  pertly,  that  he  looked  upon 
such  a  perpendicular  creature  as  man  to  make  a  very  imperfect 
figure  without  a  cane  in  his  hand.  "It  is  well  known  (says  he)  we 
ought,  according  to  the  natural  situation  of  our  bodies,  to  walk 
upon  our  hands  and  feet;  and  that  the  wisdom  of  the  ancients 
had  described  man  to  be  an  animal  of  four  legs  in  the  morning,  two 
at  noon,  and  three  at  night;  by  which  they  intimated,  that  a  cane 
might  very  properly  become  part  of  us  in  some  period  of  life." 
Upon  which  I  asked  him,  "whether  he  wore  it  at  his  breast  to 
have  it  in  readiness  when  that  period  should  arrive  ?  "  My  young 
lawyer  immediately  told  me,  he  had  a  property  in  it,  and  a  right 
to  hang  it  where  he  pleased,  and  to  make  use  of  it  as  he  thought  fit, 
provided  that  he  did  not  break  the  peace  with  it;  and  further 
said,  that  he  never  took  it  off  his  button,  unless  it  were  to  lift  it  up 
at  a  coachman,  hold  it  over  the  head  of  a  drawer,  point  out  the 
circumstances  of  a  story,  or  for  other  services  of  the  like  nature, 

63 


THE   TATLER 

that  are  all  within  the  laws  of  the  land.  I  did  not  care  for  dis- 
couraging a  young  man  who,  I  saw,  would  come  to  good;  and 
because  his  heart  was  set  upon  his  new  purchase,  I  only  ordered 
him  to  wear  it  about  his  neck,  instead  of  hanging  it  upon  his  button, 
and  so  dismissed  him. 

There  were  several  appeared  in  court,  whose  pretensions  I  found 
to  be  very  good,  and  therefore  gave  many  their  licences  upon 
paying  their  fees;  as  many  others  had  their  licences  renewed,  who 
required  more  time  for  recovery  of  their  lameness  than  I  had 
before  allowed  them. 

Having  despatched  this  set  of  my  petitioners,  there  came  in  a 
well-dressed  man,  with  a  glass- tube  in  one  hand  and  his  petition 
in  the  other.  Upon  his  entering  the  room,  he  threw  back  the  right 
side  of  his  wig,  put  forward  his  right  leg,  and  advancing  the  glass  to 
his  right  eye,  aimed  it  directly  at  me.  In  the  mean  while,  to  make 
my  observations  also,  I  put  on  my  spectacles;  in  which  posture  we 
surveyed  each  other  for  some  time.  Upon  the  removal  of  our 
glasses,  I  desired  him  to  read  his  petition,  which  he  did  very 
promptly  and  easily;  though  at  the  same  time  it  set  forth,  that  he 
could  see  nothing  distinctly,  and  was  within  a  very  few  degrees 
of  being  utterly  blind ;  concluding  with  a  prayer,  that  he  might  be 
permitted  to  strengthen  and  extend  his  sight  by  a  glass.  In  answer 
to  this,  I  told  him,  he  might  sometimes  extend  it  to  his  own  destruc- 
tion. "  As  you  are  now  (said  I)  you  are  out  of  the  reach  of  beauty; 
the  shafts  of  the  finest  eyes  lose  their  force  before  they  can  come 
at  you;  you  cannot  distinguish  a  toast  from  an  orange-wench;  you 
can  see  a  whole  circle  of  beauty  without  any  interruption  from  an 
impertinent  face  to  discompose  you.  In  short,  what  are  snares 
for  others"  —  My  petitioner  would  hear  no  more,  but  told  me  very 
seriously,  "Mr.  Bickerstaffe,  you  quite  mistake  your  man;  it  is 
the  joy,  the  pleasure,  the  employment  of  my  life,  to  frequent  public 
assemblies,  and  gaze  upon  the  fair."  In  a  word,  I  found  his  use 
of  a  glass  was  occasioned  by  no  other  infirmity  but  his  vanity,  and 
was  not  so  much  designed  to  make  him  see,  as  to  make  him  be  seen 
and  distinguished  by  others.  I  therefore  refused  him  a  licence 
for  a  perspective,  but  allowed  him  a  pair  of  spectacles,  with  full 
permission  to  use  them  in  any  public  assembly  as  he  should  think 
fit.  He  was  followed  by  so  very  few  of  this  order  of  men,  that  I 
have  reason  to  hope  this  sort  of  cheats  are  almost  at  an  end. 

The  orange-flower-men  appeared  next  with  petitions,  perfumed  so 

64 


THE   TATLER 

strongly  with  musk,  that  I  was  almost  overcome  with  the  scent;  and 
for  my  own  sake,  was  obliged  forthwith  to  licence  their  handker- 
chiefs, especially  when  I  found  they  had  sweetened  them  at  Charles 
Lillie's,  and  that  some  of  their  persons  would  not  be  altogether 
inoffensive  without  them.  John  Morphew,  whom  I  have  made 
the  general  of  my  dead  men,  acquainted  me,  that  the  petitioners 
were  all  of  that  order,  and  could  produce  certificates  to  prove  it 
if  I  required  it.  I  was  so  well  pleased  with  this  way  of  their  em- 
balming themselves,  that  I  commanded  the  abovesaid  Morphew 
to  give  it  in  orders  to  his  whole  army,  that  every  one  who  did  not 
surrender  himself  up  to  be  disposed  of  by  the  upholders,  should 
use  the  same  method  to  keep  himself  sweet  during  his  present  state 
of  putrefaction. 

I  finished  my  session  with  great  content  of  mind,  reflecting  upon 
the  good  I  had  done;  for  however  slightly  men  may  regard  these 
particularities  and  little  follies  in  dress  and  behaviour,  they  lead 
to  greater  evils.  The  bearing  to  be  laughed  at  for  such  singulari- 
ties, teaches  us  insensibly  an  impertinent  fortitude,  and  enables 
us  to  bear  public  censure  for  things  which  more  substantially 
deserve  it.  By  this  means  they  open  a  gate  to  folly,  and  often- 
times render  a  man  so  ridiculous,  as  discredit  his  virtues  and  capaci- 
ties, and  unqualify  them  from  doing  any  good  in  the  world.  Be- 
sides, the  giving  in  to  uncommon  habits  of  this  nature,  is  a  want 
of  that  humble  deference  which  is  due  to  mankind;  and  (what  is 
worst  of  all)  the  certain  indication  of  some  secret  flaw  in  the  mind 
of  the  person  that  commits  them.  When  I  was  a  young  man,  I 
remember  a  gentleman  of  great  integrity  and  worth  was  very  re- 
markable for  wearing  a  broad  belt,  and  a  hanger  instead  of  a  fashion- 
able sword,  though  in  ah1  other  points  a  very  well-bred  man.  I 
suspected  him  at  first  sight  to  have  something  wrong  in  him,  but 
was  not  able  for  a  long  while  to  discover  any  collateral  proofs  of  it, 
I  watched  him  narrowly  for  six  and  thirty  years,  when  at  last,  to 
the  surprise  of  everybody  but  myself,  who  had  long  expected  to 
see  the  folly  break  out,  he  married  his  own  cook-maid. 


THE   TATLER 

MRS.   TRAN^UILLUS 

No.  104.]    THURSDAY,  DECEMBER  8,  1709.    [STEELE.] 

Garrit  aniles 

Ex  re  fabellas .  HOR.  2  Sat.  vi.  78. 

He  tells  an  old  wife's  tale  very  pertinently. 

MY  brother  Tranquillus  being  gone  out  of  town  for  some  days, 
my  sister  Jenny  sent  me  word  she  would  come  and  dine  with 
me,  and  therefore  desired  me  to  have  no  other  company.  I  took 
care  accordingly,  and  was  not  a  little  pleased  to  see  her  enter  the 
room  with  a  decent  and  matron-like  behaviour,  which  I  thought 
very  much  became  her.  I  saw  she  had  a  great  deal  to  say  to  me, 
and  easily  discovered  in  her  eyes,  and  the  air  of  her  countenance, 
that  she  had  abundance  of  satisfaction  in  her  heart,  which  she 
longed  to  communicate.  However,  I  was  resolved  to  let  her  break 
into  her  discourse  her  own  way,  and  reduced  her  to  a  thousand 
little  devices  and  intimations  to  bring  me  to  the  mention  of  her  hus- 
band. But,  finding  I  was  resolved  not  to  name  him,  she  began 
of  her  own  accord.  "  My  husband,"  said  she,  "  gives  his  humble 
service  to  you;"  to  which  I  only  answered,  "I  hope  he  is  well;" 
and,  without  waiting  for  a  reply,  fell  into  other  subjects.  She  at 
last  was  out  of  all  patience,  and  said,  with  a  smile  and  manner  that 
I  thought  had  more  beauty  and  spirit  than  I  had  ever  observed 
before  in  her,  "  I  did  not  think,  brother,  you  had  been  so  ill-natured. 
You  have  seen,  ever  since  I  came  in,  that  I  had  a  mind  to  talk  of 
my  husband,  and  you  will  not  be  so  kind  as  to  give  me  an  occasion." 
— "I  did  not  know,"  said  I,  "but  it  might  be  a  disagreeable  subject 
to  you.  You  do  not  take  me  for  so  old-fashioned  a  fellow  as  to 
think  of  entertaining  a  young  lady  with  the  discourse  of  her  hus- 
band. I  know,  nothing  is  more  acceptable  than  to  speak  of  one 
who  is  to  be  so;  but  to  speak  of  one  who  is  so!  indeed,  Jenny,  I  am 
a  better  bred  man  than  you  think  me."  She  shewed  a  little  dislike 
at  my  raillery;  and,  by  her  bridling  up,  I  perceived  she  expected 
to  be  treated  hereafter  not  as  Jenny  Distaff,  but  Mrs.  Tranquillus. 
I  was  very  well  pleased  with  this  change  in  her  humour;  and,  upon 
talking  with  her  on  several  subjects,  I  could  not  but  fancy  that 

66 


THE   TATLER 

I  saw  a  great  deal  of  her  husband's  way  and  manner  in  her  remarks, 
her  phrases,  the  tone  of  her  voice,  and  the  very  air  of  her  counte- 
nance. This  gave  me  an  unspeakable  satisfaction,  not  only  because 
I  had  found  her  an  husband,  from  whom  she  could  learn  many 
things  that  were  laudable,  but  also  because  I  looked  upon  her  imita- 
tion of  him  as  an  infallible  sign  that  she  entirely  loved  him. 

This  is  an  observation  that  I  never  knew  fail,  though  I  do  not 
remember  that  any  other  has  made  it.  The  natural  shyness  of 
her  sex  hindered  her  from  telling  me  the  greatness  of  her  own  pas- 
sion ;  but  I  easily  collected  it  from  the  representation  she  gave  me  of 
his.  "I  have  everything/'  says  she,  "in  Tranquillus,  that  I  can 
wish  for;  and  enjoy  in  him,  what  indeed  you  have  told  me  were  to 
be  met  with  in  a  good  husband  the  fondness  of  a  lover,  the  tender- 
ness of  a  parent,  and  the  intimacy  of  a  friend."  It  transported  me 
to  see  her  eyes  swimming  in  tears  of  affection  when  she  spoke. 
"  And  is  there  not,  dear  sister,"  said  I,  "  more  pleasure  in  the  pos' 
session  of  such  a  man,  than  in  all  the  little  impertinences  of  balls, 
assemblies,  and  equipage,  which  it  cost  me  so  much  pains  to  make 
you  contemn?"  She  answered,  smiling,  "Tranquillus  has  made 
me  a  sincere  convert  in  a  few  weeks,  though  I  am  afraid  you  could 
not  have  done  it  in  your  whole  life.  To  tell  you  truly,  I  have  only 
one  fear  hanging  upon  me,  which  is  apt  to  give  me  trouble  in  the 
midst  of  all  my  satisfactions:  I  am  afraid,  you  must  know,  that  I 
shall  not  always  make  the  same  amiable  appearance  in  his  eyes 
that  I  do  at  present.  You  know,  brother  Bickerstaffe,  that  you 
have  the  reputation  of  a  conjurer ;  and  if  you  have  any  one  secret  in 
your  art  to  make  your  sister  always  beautiful,  I  should  be  happier 
than  if  I  were  mistress  of  all  the  worlds  you  have  shown  me  in  a 
starry  night."  —  "Jenny,"  said  I,  "without  having  recourse  to 
magic,  I  shall  give  you  one  plain  rule,  that  will  not  fail  of  making 
you  always  amiable  to  a  man  who  has  so  great  a  passion  for  you, 
and  is  of  so  equal  and  reasonable  a  temper  as  Tranquillus.  Endeav- 
our to  please,  and  you  must  please ;  be  always  in  the  same  disposi- 
tion as  you  are  when  you  ask  for  this  secret,  and  you  may  take  my 
word,  you  will  never  want  it.  An  inviolable  fidelity,  good  humour 
and  complacency  of  temper,  out-live  all  the  charms  of  a  fine  face, 
and  make  the  decays  of  it  invisible." 

We  discoursed  very  long  upon  this  head,  which  was  equally  agree- 
able to  us  both ;  for  I  must  confess,  as  I  tenderly  love  her,  I  take  as 
much  pleasure  in  giving  her  instructions  for  her  welfare,  as  she  her- 

67 


THE   TATLER 

self  does  in  receiving  them.  I  proceeded,  therefore,  to  inculate 
these  sentiments,  by  relating  a  very  particular  passage  that  happened 
within  my  own  knowledge. 

There  were  several  of  us  making  merry  at  a  friend's  house  in  a 
country  village,  when  the  sexton  of  the  parish  church  entered  the 
room  in  a  sort  of  surprise,  and  told  us,  "that  as  he  was  digging  a 
grave  in  the  chancel,  a  little  blow  of  his  pickaxe  opened  a  decayed 
coffin,  in  which  there  were  several  written  papers."  Our\  curios- 
ity was  immediately  raised,  so  that  we  went  to  the  place  where  the 
sexton  had  been  at  work,  and  found  a  great  concourse  of  people 
about  the  grave.  Among  the  rest,  there  was  an  old  woman,  who 
told  us,  the  person  buried  there  was  a  lady  whose  name  I  do  not 
think  fit  to  mention,  though  there  is  nothing  in  the  story  but  what 
tends  very  much  to  her  honour.  This  lady  lived  several  years  an 
exemplary  pattern  of  conjugal  love,  and,  dying  soon  after  her  hus- 
band, who  every  way  answered  her  character  in  virtue  and  affection, 
made  it  her  death-bed  request,  "that  all  the  letters  which  she  had 
received  from  him  both  before  and  after  her  marriage  should  be 
buried  in  the  coffin  with  her."  These,  I  found  upon  examination, 
were  the  papers  before  us.  Several  of  them  had  suffered  so  much 
by  time,  that  I  could  only  pick  out  a  few  words ;  as  my  soul  I  lilies  I 
roses  I  dearest  angel  I  and  the  like.  One  of  them,  which  was  legible 
throughout,  ran  thus: 

"  MADAM,  —  If  you  would  know  the  greatness  of  my  love,  con- 
sider that  of  your  own  beauty.  That  blooming  countenance,  that 
snowy  bosom,  that  graceful  person,  return  every  moment  to  my 
imagination:  the  brightness  of  your  eyes  hath  hindered  me  from 
closing  mine  since  I  last  saw  you.  You  may  still  add  to  your 
beauties  by  a  smile.  A  frown  will  make  me  the  most  wretched 
of  men,  as  I  am  the  most  passionate  of  lovers." 

It  filled  the  whole  company  with  a  deep  melancholy,  to  compare 
the  description  of  the  letter  with  the  person  that  occasioned  it,  who 
was  now  reduced  to  a  few  crumbling  bones  and  a  little  mouldering 
heap  of  earth.  With  much  ado  I  decyphered  another  letter,  which 
began  with,  "  My  dear,  dear  wife."  This  gave  me  a  curiosity  to  see 
how  the  style  of  one  written  in  marriage  differed  from  one  written 
in  courtship.  To  my  surprise,  I  found  the  fondness  rather  aug- 

68 


THE   TATLER 

mented  than  lessened,  though  the  panegyric  turned  upon  a  different 
accomplishment.     The  words  were  as  follows: 

"  Before  this  short  absence  from  you,  I  did  not  know  that  I  loved 
you  so  much  as  I  really  do;  though,  at  the  same  time,  I  thought  I 
loved  you  as  much  as  possible.  I  am  under  great  apprehension, 
lest  you  should  have  any  uneasiness  whilst  I  am  defrauded  of  my 
share  in  it,  and  cannot  think  of  tasting  any  pleasures  that  you  do  not 
partake  with  me.  Pray,  my  dear,  be  careful  of  your  health,  if  for 
no  other  reason,  but  because  you  know  I  could  not  outlive  you.  It 
is  natural  in  absence  to  make  professions  of  an  inviolable  con- 
stancy; but  towards  so  much  merit,  it  is  scarce  a  virtue,  especially 
when  it  is  but  a  bare  return  to  that  of  which  you  have  given  me  such 
continued  proofs  ever  since  our  first  acquaintance.  I  am,  &c." 

It  happened  that  the  daughter  of  these  two  excellent  persons  was 
by  when  I  was  reading  this  letter.  At  the  sight  of  the  coffin,  in 
which  was  the  body  of  her  mother,  near  that  of  her  father,  she 
melted  into  a  flood  of  tears.  As  I  had  heard  a  great  character  of 
her  virtue,  and  observed  in  her  this  instance  of  filial  piety,  I  could 
not  resist  my  natural  inclination  of  giving  advice  to  young  people, 
and  therefore  addressed  myself  to  her.  "Young  lady,"  said  I, 
"you  see  how  short  is  the  possession  of  that  beauty,  in  which 
nature  has  been  so  liberal  to  you.  You  find  the  melancholy  sight 
before  you  is  a  contradiction  to  the  first  letter  that  you  heard  on  that 
subject;  whereas  you  may  observe,  the  second  letter,  which  cele- 
brates your  mother's  constancy,  is  itself,  being  found  in  this  place, 
an  argument  of  it.  But,  madam,  I  ought  to  caution  you,  not  to 
think  the  bodies  that  lie  before  you  your  father  and  your  mother. 
Know,  their  constancy  is  rewarded  by  a  nobler  union  than  by  this 
mingling  of  their  ashes,  in  a  state  where  there  is  no  danger  or  possi- 
bility of  a  second  separation." 


69 


THE   TATLER 

THE  PETTICOAT 

No.  116.]    THURSDAY,  JANUARY  5,  1709-10.    [ADDISON.] 

Pars  minima  est  ipsa  puella  sui.  —  OVID. 

The  young  lady  is  the  least  part  of  herself. 

THE  court  being  prepared  for  proceeding  on  the  cause  of  the 
petticoat,  I  gave  orders  to  bring  in  a  criminal,  who  was  taken 
•  up  as  she  went  out  of  the  puppet-shew  about  three  nights  ago,  and 
was  now  standing  in  the  street,  with  a  great  concourse  of  people 
about  her.  Word  was  brought  me,  that  she  had  endeavoured  twice 
or  thrice  to  come  in,  but  could  not  do  it  by  reason  of  her  petticoat, 
which  was  too  large  for  the  entrance  of  my  house,  though  I  had 
ordered  both  the  folding  doors  to  be  thrown  open  for  its  reception. 
Upon  this,  I  desired  the  jury  of  matrons,  who  stood  at  my  right- 
hand,  to  inform  themselves  of  her  condition,  and  know  whether 
there  were  any  private  reasons  why  she  might  not  make  her  appear- 
ance separate  from  her  petticoat.  This  was  managed  with  great 
discretion,  and  had  such  an  effect,  that  upon  the  return  of  the  ver- 
dict from  the  bench  of  matrons,  I  issued  out  an  order  forthwith, 
"that  the  criminal  should  be  stripped  of  her  incumbrances,  until 
she  became  little  enough  to  enter  my  house."  I  had  before  given 
directions  for  an  engine  of  several  legs,  that  could  contract  or  open 
itself  like  the  top  of  an  umbrella,  in  order  to  place  the  petticoat  upon 
it,  by  which  means  I  might  take  a  leisurely  survey  of  it,  as  it  should 
appear  hi  its  proper  dimensions.  This  was  all  done  accordingly; 
and  forthwith,  upon  the  closing  of  the  engine,  the  petticoat  was 
brought  into  court.  I  then  directed  the  machine  to  be  set  upon  the 
table,  and  dilated  in  such  a  manner  as  to  shew  the  garment  in  its 
utmost  circumference;  but  my  great  hall  was  too  narrow  for  the 
experiment;  for  before  it  was  half  unfolded,  it  described  so  im- 
moderate a  circle,  that  the  lower  part  of  it  brushed  upon  my  face  as 
I  sat  hi  my  chair  of  judicature.  I  then  inquired  for  the  person  that 
belonged  to  the  petticoat;  and,  to  my  great  surprise,  was  directed 
to  a  very  beautiful  young  damsel,  with  so  pretty  a  face  and  shape, 
that  I  bid  her  come  out  of  the  crowd,  and  seated  her  upon  a  little 
crock  at  my  left  hand.  "My  pretty  maid,"  said  I,  "do  you  own 
yourself  to  have  been  the  inhabitant  of  the  garment  before  us?" 

70 


THE   TATLER 

The  girl,  I  found,  had  good  sense,  and  told  me  with  a  smile,  that, 
"  notwithstanding  it  was  her  own  petticoat,  she  should  be  very  glad 
to  see  an  example  made  of  it;  and  that  she  wore  it  for  no  other 
reason,  but  that  she  had  a  mind  to  look  as  big  and  burly  as  other 
persons  of  her  quality;  that  she  had  kept  out  of  it  as  long  as  she 
could,  and  until  she  began  to  appear  little  in  the  eyes  of  her  acquain- 
tance; that,  if  she  laid  it  aside,  people  would  think  she  was  not 
made  like  other  women."  I  always  give  great  allowances  to  the 
fair  sex  upon  account  of  the  fashion,  and,  therefore,  was  not  dis- 
pleased with  the  defence  of  my  pretty  criminal.  I  then  ordered 
the  vest  which  stood  before  us  to  be  drawn  up  by  a  pulley  to  the  top 
of  my  great  hall,  and  afterwards  to  be  spread  open  by  the  engine  it 
was  placed  upon,  in  such  a  manner,  that  it  formed  a  very  splendid 
and  ample  canopy  over  our  heads,  and  covered  the  whole  court  of 
judicature  with  a  kind  of  silken  rotunda,  in  its  form  not  unlike  the 
cupola  of  Saint  Paul's.  I  entered  upon  the  whole  cause  with  great 
satisfaction  as  I  sat  under  the  shadow  of  it. 

The  counsel  for  the  petticoat  were  now  called  in,  and  ordered 
to  produce  what  they  had  to  say  against  the  popular  cry  which 
was  raised  against  it.  They  answered  the  objections  with  great 
strength  and  solidity  of  argument,  and  expatiated  in  very  florid 
harangues,  which  they  did  not  fail  to  set  off  and  furbelow,  if  I 
may  be  allowed  the  metaphor,  with  many  periodical  sentences 
and  turns  of  oratory.  The  chief  arguments  for  their  client  were 
taken,  first,  from  the  great  benefit  that  might  arise  to  our  woolen 
manufactory  from  this  invention,  which  was  calculated  as  follows. 
The  common  petticoat  has  not  above  four  yards  in  the  circum- 
ference; whereas  this  over  our  heads  had  more  in  the  semi -diameter; 
so  that,  by  allowing  it  twenty-four  yards  in  the  circumference,  the 
five  millions  of  woollen  petticoats  which,  according  to  Sir  William 
Petty,  supposing  what  ought  to  be  supposed  in  a  well-governed 
state,  that  all  petticoats  are  made  of  that  stuff,  would  amount  to 
thirty  millions  of  those  of  the  ancient  mode.  A  prodigious  improve- 
ment of  the  woollen  trade!  and  what  could  not  fail  to  sink  the 
power  of  France  in  a  few  years. 

To  introduce  the  second  argument,  they  begged  leave  to  read 
a  petition  of  the  ropemakers,  wherein  it  was  represented,  "that 
the  demand  for  cords,  and  the  price  of  them,  were  much  risen 
since  this  fashion  came  up. "  At  this,  all  the  company  who  were 
present  lifted  up  their  eyes  into  the  vault;  and  I  must  confess,  we 


THE    TATLER 

did  discover  many  traces  of  cordage,  which  were  interwoven  in  the 
stiffening  of  the  drapery. 

A  third  argument  was  founded  upon  a  petition  of  the  Green- 
land trade,  which  likewise  represented  the  great  consumption 
of  whalebone  which  would  be  occasioned  by  the  present  fashion, 
and  the  benefit  which  would  thereby  accrue  to  that  branch  of 
the  British  trade. 

To  conclude,  they  gently  touched  upon  the  weight  and  un- 
wieldiness  of  the  garment,  which,  they  insinuated,  might  be  of 
great  use  to  preserve  the  honour  of  families. 

These  arguments  would  have  wrought  very  much  upon  me, 
as  I  then  told  the  company  hi  a  long  and  elaborate  discourse, 
had  I  not  considered  the  great  and  additional  expense  .which 
such  fashions  would  bring  upon  fathers  and  husbands;  and,  there- 
fore, by  no  means  to  be  thought  of  until  some  years  after  a  peace. 
I  farther  urged,  that  it  would  be  a  prejudice  to  the  ladies  them- 
selves, who  could  never  expect  to  have  any  money  in  the  pocket, 
if  they  laid  out  so  much  on  the  petticoat.  To  this  I  added,  the 
great  temptation  it  might  give  to  virgins,  of  acting  in  security  like 
married  women,  and  by  that  means  give  a  check  to  matrimony,  an 
institution  always  encouraged  by  wise  societies. 

At  the  same  time,  in  answer  to  the  several  petitions  produced 
on  that  side,  I  shewed  one  subscribed  by  the  women  of  several 
persons  of  quality,  humbly  setting  forth,  "that,  since  the  intro- 
duction of  this  mode,  their  respective  ladies  had,  instead  of  bestow- 
ing on  them  their  cast  gowns,  cut  them  into  shreds,  and  mixed  them 
with  the  cordage  and  buckram,  to  complete  the  stiffening  of  their 
under  petticoats."  For  which,  and  sundry  other  reasons,  I  pro- 
nounced the  petticoat  a  forfeiture :  but,  to  shew  that  I  did  not  make 
that  judgment  for  the  sake  of  filthy  lucre,  I  ordered  it  to  be  folded 
up,  and  sent  it  as  a  present  to  a  widow-gentlewoman,  who  has  five 
daughters;  desiring  she  would  make  each  of  them  a  petticoat  out 
of  it,  and  send  me  back  the  remainder,  which  I  design  to  cut  into 
stomachers,  caps,  facings  of  my  waistcoat-sleeves,  and  other 
garnitures  suitable  to  my  age  and  quality. 

I  would  not  be  understood,  that,  while  I  discard  this  monstrous 
invention,  I  am  an  enemy  to  the  proper  ornaments  of  the  fair  sex. 
On  the  contrary,  as  the  hand  of  nature  has  poured  on  them  such  a 
profusion  of  charms  and  graces,  and  sent  them  into  the  world  more 
amiable  and  finished  than  the  rest  of  her  works;  so  I  would  have 

72 


THE   TATLER 

them  bestow  upon  themselves  all  the  additional  beauties  that  art 
can  supply  them  with,  provided  it  does  not  interfere  with,  disguise, 
or  pervert  those  of  nature. 

I  consider  woman  as  a  beautiful  romantic  animal,  that  may 
be  adorned  with  furs  and  feathers,  pearls  and  diamonds,  ores 
and  silks.  The  lynx  shall  cast  its  skin  at  her  feet  to  make  her  a 
tippet;  the  peacock,  parrot,  and  swan  shall  pay  contributions  to 
her  muff;  the  sea  shall  be  searched  for  shells,  and  the  rocks  for 
gems;  and  every  part  of  nature  furnish  out  its  share  towards  the 
embellishment  of  a  creature  that  is  the  most  consummate  work  of 
it.  All  this  I  shall  indulge  them  in ;  but  as  for  the  petticoat  I  have 
been  speaking  of,  I  neither  can  nor  will  allow  it. 


ON   THE   LOTTERY 

No.    124.]    TUESDAY,  JANUARY  24,  1709-10  [STEELE.] 

Ex  humili  summa  ad  fastigia  rerum 

Extollit,  quoties  voluit  Fortuna  jocari. 

JTTV.  SAT.  iii.  39. 

Fortune  can,  for  her  pleasure,  fools  advance, 
And  toss  them  on  the  wheels  of  Chance. 

I  WENT  on  Saturday  last  to  make  a  visit  in  the  city;  and  as 
I  passed  through  Cheapside,  I  saw  crowds  of  people  turning 
down  towards  the  Bank,  and  struggling  who  should  first  get  their 
money  into  the  new-erected  lottery.  It  gave  me  a  great  notion  of 
the  credit  of  our  present  government  and  administration,  to  find 
people  press  as  eagerly  to  pay  money,  as  they  would  to  receive  it; 
and,  at  the  same  time,  a  due  respect  for  that  body  of  men  who  have 
found  out  so  pleasing  an  expedient  for  carrying  on  the  common 
cause,  that  they  have  turned  a  tax  into  a  diversion.  The  cheerful- 
ness of  spirit,  and  the  hopes  of  success,  which  this  project  has 
occasioned  in  this  great  city,  lightens  the  burden  of  the  war,  and 
puts  me  in  mind  of  some  games  which,  they  say,  were  invented  by 
'wise  men,  who  were  lovers  of  their  country,  to  make  their  fellow- 
citizens  undergo  the  tediousness  and  fatigues  of  a  long  siege.  I 
think  there  is  a  kind  of  homage  due  to  fortune,  if  I  may  call  it  so, 

73 


THE   TATLER 

and  that  I  should  be  wanting  to  myself,  if  I  did  not  lay  in  my 
pretences  to  her  favour,  and  pay  my  compliments  to  her  by  recom- 
mending a  ticket  to  her  disposal.  For  this  reason,  upon  my  return 
to  my  lodgings,  I  sold  off  a  couple  of  globes  and  a  telescope,  which, 
with  the  cash  I  had  by  me,  raised  the  sum  that  was  requisite  for 
that  purpose.  I  find  by  my  calculations,  that  it  is  but  an  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  to  one,  against  my  being  worth  a  thousand  pounds 
per  annum  for  thirty-two  years;  and  if  any  Plumb  in  the  city  will 
lay  me  an  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  pounds  to  twenty  shillings, 
which  is  an  even  bet,  that  I  am  not  this  fortunate  man,  I  will  take 
the  wager,  and  shall  look  upon  him  as  a  man  of  singular  courage 
and  fair-dealing ;  having  given  orders  to  Mr.  Morphew  to  subscribe 
such  a  policy  in  my  behalf,  if  any  person  accepts  of  the  offer.  I 
must  confess,  I  have  had  such  private  intimations  from  the  twink- 
ling of  a  certain  star  in  some  of  my  astronomical  observations,  that 
I  should  be  unwilling  to  take  fifty  pounds  a  year  for  my  chance, 
unless  it  were  to  oblige  a  particular  friend. 

My  chief  business  at  present  is,  to  prepare  my  mind  for  this 
change  of  fortune:  for  as  Seneca,  who  was  a  greater  moralist,  and 
a  much  richer  man  than  I  shall  be  with  this  addition  to  my  present 
income,  says,  Munera  ista  Fortunes  putatis?  Insidi'.e  sunt.  "  What 
we  look  upon  as  gifts  and  presents  of  fortune,  are  traps  and  snares 
which  she  lays  for  the  unwary."  I  am  arming  myself  against  her 
favours  with  all  my  philosophy;  and  that  I  may  not  lose  myself 
in  such  a  redundance  of  unnecessary  and  superfluous  wealth,  I 
have  determined  to  settle  an  annual  pension  out  of  it  upon  a  family 
of  Palatines,  and  by  that  means  give  these  unhappy  strangers  a 
taste  of  British  property.  At  the  same  time,  as  I  have  an  excellent 
servant-maid,  whose  diligence  in  attending  me  has  increased  in 
proportion  to  my  infirmities,  I  shall  settle  upon  her  the  revenue 
arising  out  of  the  ten  pounds,  and  amounting  to  fourteen  shillings 
per  annum;  with  which  she  may  retire  into  Wales,  where  she  was 
born  a  gentlewoman,  and  pass  the  remaining  part  of  her  days  in  a 
condition  suitable  to  her  birth  and  quality.  It  was  impossible 
for  me  to  make  an  inspection  into  my  own  fortune  on  this  occasion, 
without  seeing,  at  the  same  time,  the  fate  of  others  who  are  em- 
barked in  the  same  adventure.  And  indeed  it  was  a  great  pleasure 
to  me  to  observe,  that  the  war,  which  generally  impoverishes  those 
who  furnish  out  the  expense  of  it,  will  by  this  means  give  estates  * 
to  some,  without  making  others  the  poorer  for  it.  I  have  lately 

74 


THE   TATLER 

seen  several  in  liveries,  who  will  give  as  good  of  their  own  very 
suddenly ;  and  took  a  particular  satisfaction  in  the  sight  of  a  young 
country-wench,  whom  I  this  morning  passed  by  as  she  was  whirl- 
ing her  mop,  with  her  petticoats  tucked  up  very  agreeably,  who, 
if  there  is  any  truth  in  my  art,  is  within  ten  months  of  being  the 
handsomest  great  fortune  in  town.  I  must  confess,  I  was  so  struck 
with  the  foresight  of  what  she  is  to  be,  that  I  treated  her  accord- 
ingly, and  said  to  her,  "  Pray,  young  lady,  permit  me  to  pass  by." 
I  would  for  this  reason  advise  all  masters  and  mistresses,  to  carry 
it  with  great  moderation  and  condescension  towards  their  servants 
until -next  Michaelmas,  lest  the  superiority  at  that  time  should  be 
inverted. 

I  must  likewise  admonish  all  my  brethren  and  fellow-adven- 
turers, to  fill  their  minds  with  proper  arguments  for  their  sup- 
port and  consolation  in  case  of  ill  success.  It  so  happens  in  this 
particular,  that  though  the  gainers  will  have  reason  to  rejoice, 
the  losers  will  have  no  reason  to  complain.  I  remember,  the  day 
after  the  thousand  pound  prize  was  drawn  in  the  Penny-lottery, 
I  went  to  visit  a  splenetic  acquaintance  of  mine,  who  was  under 
much  dejection,  and  seemed  to  me  to  have  suffered  some  great 
disappointment.  Upon  inquiry,  I  found  he  had  put  two-pence  for 
himself  and  his  son  into  the  lottery,  and  that  neither  of  them  had 
drawn  the  thousand  pounds.  Hereupon  this  unlucky  person  took 
occasion  to  enumerate  the  misfortunes  of  his  life,  and  concluded 
with  telling  me,  "that  he  never  was  successful  in  any  of  his  under- 
takings." I  was  forced  to  comfort  him  with  the  common  reflec- 
tion upon  such  occasions,  "that  men  of  the  greatest  merit  are  not 
always  men  of  the  greatest  success,  and  that  persons  of  his  char- 
acter must  not  expect  to  be  as  happy  as  fools."  I  shall  proceed 
in  the  like  manner  with  my  rivals  and  competitors  for  the  thousand 
pounds  a  year,  which  we  are  now  in  pursuit  of ;  and  that  I  may  give 
general  content  to  the  whole  body  of  candidates,  I  shall  allow  all 
that  draw  prizes  to  be  fortunate,  and  all  that  miss  them  to  be  wise. 

I  must  not  here  omit  to  acknowledge,  that  I  have  received 
several  letters  upon  this  subject,  but  find  one  common  error  run- 
ning through  them  all,  which  is,  that  the  writers  of  them  believe 
their  fate  in  these  cases  depends  upon  the  astrologer,  and  not  upon 
the  stars;  as  in  the  following  letter  from  one,  who,  I  fear,  flatters 
himself  with  hopes  of  succebs  which  are  altogether  groundless,  since 
he  does  not  seem  to  me  so  great  a  fool  as  he  takes  himself  to  be. 

75 


THE   TATLER 

"SiR, —  Coming  to  town,  and  finding  my  friend  Mr.  Partridge 
dead  and  buried,  and  you  the  only  conjurer  in  repute,  I  am  under 
a  necessity  of  applying  myself  to  you  for  a  favour,  which  never- 
theless I  confess  it  would  better  become  a  friend  to  ask,  than  one 
who  is,  as  I  am,  altogether  a  stranger  to  you;  but  poverty,  you 
know,  is  impudent;  and  as  that  gives  me  the  occasion,  so  that  alone 
could  give  me  the  confidence  to  be  thus  importunate. 

"  I  am,  sir,  very  poor,  and  very  desirous  to  be  otherwise :  I  have 
got  ten  pounds,  which  I  design  to  venture  in  the  lottery  now  on 
foot.  What  I  desire  of  you  is,  that  by  your  art,  you  will  choose 
such  a  ticket  for  me  as  shall  arise  a  benefit  sufficient  to  maintain 
me.  I  must  beg  leave  to  inform  you,  that  I  am  good  for  nothing, 
and  must  therefore  insist  upon  a  larger  lot  than  would  satisfy 
those  who  are  capable,  by  their  own  abilities,  of  adding  something 
to  what  you  should  assign  them;  whereas  I  must  expect  an  abso- 
lute independent  maintenance,  because,  as  I  said,  I  can  do  noth- 
ing. It  is  possible,  after  this  free  confession  of  mine,  you  may 
think  I  do  not  deserve  to  be  rich;  but  I  hope  you  will  likewise 
observe,  I  can  ill  afford  to  be  poor.  My  own  opinion  is,  that  I 
am  well  qualified  for  an  estate,  and  have  a  good  title  to  luck  in 
a  lottery;  but  I  resign  myself  wholly  to  your  mercy,  not  without 
hopes  that  you  will  consider,  the  less  I  deserve,  the  greater  the 
generosity  in  you.  If  you  reject  me,  I  have  agreed  with  an  acquain- 
tance of  mine  to  bury  me  for  my  ten  pounds.  I  once  more  recom- 
mend myself  to  your  favour,  and  bid  you  adieu!" 


THE  PRUDE  AND  THE  COQUETTE 

No.  126.]    SATURDAY,  JANUARY  28,  1709-10.    [STEELE.] 

Anguillam  cauda  tenes.  —  T.  D'URFEY. 
You  have  got  an  eel  by  the  tail. 

THERE  is  no  sort  of  company  so  agreeable  as  that  of  women 
who  have  good  sense  without  affectation,  and  can  converse 
with  men  without  any  private   design   of  imposing  chains  and 
fetters.     Belvidera,  whom  I  visited  this  evening,  is  one  of  these. 

76 


THE   TATLER 

There  is  an  invincible  prejudice  in  favour  of  all  she  says,  from 
her  being  a  beautiful  woman;  because  she  does  not  consider  her- 
self as  such  when  she  talks  to  you.  This  amiable  temper  gives  a 
certain  tincture  to  all  her  discourse,  and  made  it  very  agreeable 
to  me  until  we  were  interrupted  by  Lydia,  a  creature  who  has 
all  the  charms  that  can  adorn  a  woman.  Her  attractions  would 
indeed  be  irresistible,  but  that  she  thinks  them  so,  and  is  always 
employing  them  in  stratagems  and  conquests.  When  I  turned 
my  eye  upon  her  as  she  sat  down,  I  saw  she  was  a  person  of  that 
character,  which,  for  the  farther  information  of  my  country  corres- 
pondents, I  had  long  wanted  an  opportunity  of  explaining.  Lydia 
is  a  finished  coquette,  which  is  a  sect  among  women  of  all  others 
the  most  mischievous,  and  makes  the  greatest  havoc  and  disorder  in 
society.  I  went  on  in  the  discourse  I  was  in  with  Belvidera,  without 
shewing  that  I  had  observed  anything  extraordinary  in  Lydia: 
upon  which,  I  immediately  saw  her  look  me  over  as  some  very 
ill-bred  fellow;  and  casting  a  scornful  glance  on  my  dress,  give  a 
shrug  at  Belvidera.  But,  as  much  as  she  despised  me,  she  wanted 
my  admiration,  and  made  twenty  offers  to  bring  my  eyes  her  way: 
but  I  reduced  her  to  a  restlessness  in  her  seat,  and  impertinent 
playing  of  her  fan,  and  many  other  motions  and  gestures  before 
I  took  the  least  notice  of  her.  At  last  I  looked  at  her  with  a  kind 
of  surprise,  as  if  she  had  before  been  unobserved  by  reason  of  an 
ill  light  where  she  sat.  It  is  not  to  be  expressed  what  a  sudden 
joy  I  saw  arise  hi  her  countenance,  even  at  the  approbation  of  such 
a  very  old  fellow :  but  she  did  not  long  enjoy  her  triumph  without 
a  rival;  for  there  immediately  entered  Castabella,  a  lady  of  a  quite 
contrary  character,  that  is  to  say,  as  eminent  a  prude  as  Lydia 
is  a  coquette.  Belvidera  gave  me  a  glance,  which  methought  inti- 
mated, that  they  were  both  curiosities  in  their  kind,  and  worth 
remarking.  As  soon  as  we  were  again  seated,  I  stole  looks  at  each 
lady,  as  if  I  was  comparing  their  perfections.  Belvidera  observed 
it,  and  began  to  lead  me  into  a  discourse  of  them  both  to  their  faces, 
which  is  to  be  done  easily  enough;  for  one  woman  is  generally  so 
intent  upon  the  faults  of  another,  that  she  has  not  reflection  enough 
to  observe  when  her  own  are  represented.  "I  have  taken  notice, 
Mr.  Bickers taffe,"  said  Belvidera,  "that  you  have,  hi  some  parts 
of  your  writings,  drawn  characters  of  our  sex,  hi  which  you  have 
not,  to  my  apprehension,  been  clear  enough  and  distinct;  particu- 
larly in  those  of  a  Prude  and  a  Coquette."  Upon  the  mention  of 

77 


THE   TATLER 

this,  Lydia  was  roused  with  the  expectation  of  seeing  Castabella's 
picture,  and  Castabella,  with  the  hopes  of  that  of  Lydia. 
"  Madam,"  said  I  to  Belvidera,  "  when  we  consider  nature,  we  shall 
often  find  very  contrary  effects  flow  from  the  same  cause.  The 
Prude  and  Coquette,  as  different  as  they  appear  in  their  behaviour, 
are  in  reality  the  same  kind  of  women.  The  motive  of  action  in 
both  is  the  affectation  of  pleasing  men.  They  are  sisters  of  the 
same  blood  and  constitution ;  only  one  chooses  a  grave,  and  the  other 
a  light  dress.  The  Prude  appears  more  virtuous,  the  Coquette 
more  vicious  than  she  really  is.  The  distant  behaviour  of  the 
Prude  tends  to  the  same  purpose  as  the  advances  of  the  Coquette; 
and  you  have  as  little  reason  to  fall  into  despair  from  the  severity 
of  the  one,  as  to  conceive  hopes  from  the  familiarity  of  the  other. 
What  leads  you  into  a  clear  sense  of  their  character  is,  that  you  may 
observe  each  of  them  has  the  distinction  of  sex  in  all  her  thoughts, 
words,  and  actions.  You  can  never  mention  any  assembly  you 
were  lately  in,  but  one  asks  you  with  a  rigid,  the  other  with 
a  sprightly  air,  "Pray,  what  men  were  there?"  As  for  Prudes, 
it  must  be  confessed,  that  there  are  several  of  them  who,  like  hypo- 
crites, by  long  practice  of  a  false  part  become  sincere;  or  at  least 
delude  themselves  into  a  belief  that  they  are  so. 

For  the  benefit  of  the  society  of  ladies,  I  shall  propose  one  rule 
to  them  as  a  test  of  their  virtue.  I  find  in  a  very  celebrated  modern 
author,  that  the  great  foundress  of  Pietists,  madam  de  Bourignon, 
who  was  no  less  famous  for  the  sanctity  of  her  life  than  for  the  sin- 
gularity of  some  of  her  opinions,  used  to  boast,  that  she  had  not  only 
the  spirit  of  continency  in  herself,  but  that  she  had  also  the  power 
of  communicating  it  to  all  who  beheld  her.  This  the  scoffers  of 
those  days  called,  "The  gift  of  infrigidation,"  and  took  occasion 
from  it  to  rally  her  face,  rather  than  admire  her  virtue.  I  would 
therefore  advise  the  Prude,  who  has  a  mind  to  know  the  integrity 
of  her  own  heart,  to  lay  her  hand  seriously  upon  it,  and  to  examine 
herself,  whether  she  could  sincerely  rejoice  in  such  a  gift  of  con- 
veying chaste  thoughts  to  all  her  male  beholders.  If  she  has  any 
aversion  to  the  power  of  inspiring  so  great  a  virtue,  whatever  notion 
she  may  have  of  her  perfection,  she  deceives  her  own  heart,  and  is 
still  in  the  state  of  prudery.  Some  perhaps  will  look  upon  the 
boast  of  madam  de  Bourignon,  as  the  utmost  ostentation  of  a  Prude. 

If  you  would  see  the  humour  of  a  Coquette  pushed  to  the  last 
excess,  you  may  find  an  instance  of  it  in  the  following  story:  which 

78 


THE   TATLER 

I  will  set  down  at  length,  because  it  pleased  me  when  I  read  it, 
though  I  cannot  recollect  in  what  author. 

"A  young  coquette  widow  in  France  having  been  followed  by  a 
Gascon  of  quality,  who  had  boasted  among  his  companions  of  some 
favours  which  he  had  never  received;  to  be  revenged  of  him,  sent 
for  him  one  evening,  and  told  him,  "it  was  in  his  power  to  do  her 
a  very  particular  service."  The  Gascon,  with  much  profession 
of  his  readiness  to  obey  her  commands,  begged  to  hear  in  what 
manner  she  designed  to  employ  him.  "You  know,"  said  the 
widow,  "my  friend  Belinda;  and  must  often  have  heard  of  the 
jealousy  of  that  impotent  wretch  her  husband.  Now  it  is  abso- 
lutely necessary,  for  the  carrying  on  a  certain  affair,  that  his  wife 
and  I  should  be  together  a  whole  night.  What  I  have  to  ask  of 
you  is,  to  dress  yourself  in  her  night-cloaths,  and  lie  by  him  a  whole 
night  in  her  place,  that  he  may  not  miss  her  while  she  is  with  me." 
The  Gascon,  though  of  a  very  lively  and  Undertaking  complexion, 
began  to  startle  at  the  proposal.  "Nay,"  says  the  widow,  "if  you 
have  not  the  courage  to  go  through  what  I  ask  of  you,  I  must  em- 
ploy somebody  else  that  will."  "Madam,"  says  the  Gascon,  "I 

will  kill  him  for  you  if  you  please ;  but  for  lying  with  him! How 

is  it  possible  to  do  it  without  being  discovered?"  "If  you  do  not 
discover  yourself,"  says  the  widow,  "you  will  lie  safe  enough,  for 
he  is  past  all  curiosity.  He  comes  in  at  night  while  she  is  asleep, 
and  goes  out  in  a  morning  before  she  awakes;  and  is  in  pain  for 
nothing,  so  he  knows  she  is  there."  "  Madam,"  replied  the  Gascon, 
"how  can  you  reward  me  for  passing  a  night  with  this  old  fellow  ?" 
The  widow  answered  with  a  laugh,  "  Perhaps  by  admitting  you  to 
pass  a  night  with  one  you  think  more  agreeable."  He  took  the 
hint;  put  on  his  night-cloaths;  and  had  not  been  a-bed  above  an 
hour  before  he  heard  a  knocking  at  the  door,  and  the  treading  of  one 
who  approached  the  other  side  of  the  bed,  and  who  he  did  not  ques- 
tion was  the  good  man  of  the  house.  I  do  not  know,  whether  the 
story  would  be  better  by  telling  you  in  this  place,  or  at  the  end  of 
it,  that  the  person  who  went  to  bed  to  him  was  our  young  coquette 
widow.  The  Gascon  was  in  a  terrible  fright  every  time  she  moved 
in  the  bed,  or  turned  towards  him;  and  did  not  fail  to  shrink  from 
her,  until  he  had  conveyed  himself  to  the  very  ridge  of  the  bed. 
I  will  not  dwell  upon  the  perplexity  he  was  in  the  whole  night 
which  was  augmented,  when  he  observed  that  it  was  now  broad 
day,  and  that  the  husband  did  not  yet  offer  to  get  up  and  go  about 

70 


THE   TATLER 

his  business.  All  that  the  Gascon  had  for  it,  was  to  keep  his  face 
turned  from  him,  and  to  feign  himself  asleep,  when,  to  his  utter 
confusion,  the  widow  at  last  puts  out  her  arm,  and  pulls  the  bell 
at  her  bed's  head.  In  came  her  friend,  and  two  or  three  com- 
panions to  whom  the  Gascon  had  boasted  of  her  favours.  The 
widow  jumped  into  a  wrapping  gown,  and  joined  with  the  rest  in 
laughing  at  this  man  of  intrigue. 


TRIAL   OF   THE   WINE-BREWERS 

No.  131.]    THURSDAY,  FEBRUARY  9,  1709-10.    [ADDISON.] 

Scelus  est  jugulare  Falernum, 

Et  dare  Campano  toxica  saeva  mere.  MART.  i.  19. 

How  great  the  crime,  how  flagrant  the  abuse! 
T'  adulterate  generous  wine  with  noxious  juice. 

THERE  is  in  this  city  a  certain  fraternity  of  chemical  oper- 
ators, who  work  underground  in  holes,  caverns,  and  dark 
retirements,  to  conceal  their  mysteries  from  the  eyes  and  observa- 
tion of  mankind.  These  subterraneous  philosophers  are  daily 
employed  in  the  transmutation  of  liquors,  and,  by  the  power  of 
magical  drugs  and  incantations,  raising  under  the  streets  of  London 
the  choicest  products  of  the  hills  and  valleys  of  France.  They 
can  squeeze  Bordeaux  out  of  the  sloe,  and  draw  Champagne  from 
an  apple.  Virgil,  in  that  remarkable  prophecy, 

Incultisque  rubens  pendebit  sentibus  uva. 

VIRG.  ECL.  iv.  29. 

The  ripening  grape  shall  hang  on  every  thorn, 

seems  to  have  hinted  at  this  art,  which  can  turn  a  plantation  of 
northern  hedges  into  a  vineyard.  These  adepts  are  known  among 
one  another  by  the  name  of  Wine-brewers ;  and,  I  am  afraid,  do 
great  injury,  not  only  to  her  majesty's  customs,  but  to  the  bodies 
of  many  of  her  good  subjects. 

Having  received  sundry  complaints  against  these  invisible  work- 
So 


THE   TATLER 

men,  I  ordered  the  proper  officer  of  my  court  to  ferret  them  out 
of  their  respective  caves,  and  bring  them  before  me,  which  was 
yesterday  executed  accordingly. 

The  person  who  appeared  against  them  was  a  merchant,  who 
had  by  him  a  great  magazine  of  wines,  that  he  had  laid  in  before  the 
war:  but  these  gentlemen,  as  he  said,"  had  so  vitiated  the  nation's 
palate,  that  no  man  could  believe  his  to  be  French,  because  it  did 
not  taste  like  what  they  sold  for  such."  As  a  man  never  pleads 
better  than  where  his  own  personal  interest  is  concerned,  he  ex- 
hibited to  the  court,  with  great  eloquence,  "that  this  new  corpora- 
tion of  druggists  had  inflamed  the  bills  of  mortality,  and  puzzled 
the  college  of  physicians  with  diseases,  for  which  they  neither  knew 
a  name  or  cure.  He  accused  some  of  giving  all  their  customers 
colics  and  megrims;  and  mentioned  one  who  had  boasted,  he  had 
a  tun  of  claret  by  him,  that  in  a  fortnight's  time  should  give  the 
gout  to  a  dozen  of  the  healthfulest  men  in  the  city,  provided  that 
their  constitutions  were  prepared  for  it  by  wealth  and  idleness.  He 
then  enlarged,  with  a  great  show  of  reason,  upon  the  prejudice, 
which  these  mixtures  and  compositions  had  done  to  the  brains  of 
the  English  nation;  as  is  too  visible,  said  he,  from  many  late  pam- 
phlets, speeches,  and  sermons,  a  swell  as  from  the  ordinary  conversa- 
tions of  the  youth  of  this  age.  He  then  quoted  an  ingenious  person, 
who  would  undertake  to  know  by  a  man's  writings  the  wine  he 
most  delighted  in;  and  on  that  occasion  named  a  certain  satirist, 
whom  he  had  discovered  to  be  the  author  of  a  lampoon,  by  a  mani- 
fest taste  of  the  sloe,  which  showed  itself  hi  it,  by  much  roughness, 
and  little  spirit. 

In  the  last  place,  he  ascribed  to  the  unnatural  tumults  and  fer- 
mentations which  these  mixtures  raise  in  our  blood,  the  divisions, 
heats,  and  animosities,  that  reign  among  us;  and,  in  particular, 
asserted  most  of  the  modern  enthusiasms  and  agitations  to  be  noth- 
ing else  but  the  effects  of  adulterated  Port. 

The  counsel  for  the  Brewers  had  a  face  so  extremely  inflamed, 
and  illuminated  with  carbuncles,  that  I  did  not  wonder  to  see  him 
an  advocate  for  these  sophistications.  His  rhetoric  was  likewise 
such  as  I  should  have  expected  from  the  common  draught,  which 
I  found  he  often  drank  to  a  great  excess.  Indeed,  I  was  so  sur- 
prised at  his  figure  and  parts,  that  I  ordered  him  to  give  me  a  taste 
of  his  usual  liquor;  which  I  had  no  sooner  drunk,  but  I  found  a 
pimple  rising  in  my  forehead ;  and  felt  such  a  terrible  decay  in  my 

Si 


THE   TATLER 

understanding,  that  I  would  not  proceed  in  the  trial  until  the 
fume  of  it  was  entirely  dissipated. 

This  notable  advocate  had  little  to  say  in  the  defence  of  his 
clients,  but  that  they  were  under  a  necessity  of  making  claret,  if  they 
keep  open  their  doors ;  it  being  the  nature  of  mankind  to  love  every- 
thing that  is  prohibited.  He  farther  pretended  to  reason,  that  it 
might  be  as  profitable  to  the  nation  to  make  French  wine  as  French 
hats ;  and  concluded  with  the  great  advantage  that  this  practice  had 
already  brought  to  part  of  the  kingdom.  Upon  which  he  informed 
the  court,  that  the  lands  in  Herefordshire  were  raised  two  years 
purchase  since  the  beginning  of  the  war. 

When  I  had  sent  out  my  summons  to  these  people,  I  gave,  at  the 
same  time,  orders  to  each  of  them  to  bring  the  several  ingredients 
he  made  use  of  in  distinct  phials,  which  they  had  done  accordingly, 
and  ranged  them  into  two  rows  on  each  side  of  the  court.  The 
workmen  were  drawn  up  in  ranks  behind  them.  The  merchant 
informed  me,  "that  in  one  row  of  phials  were  the  several  colours 
they  dealt  in,  and  in  the  other,  the  tastes."  He  then  showed  me, 
on  the  right-hand,  one  who  went  by  the  name  of  Tom  Tintoret, 
who,  as  he  told  me,  "was  the  greatest  master  in  his  colouring  of 
any  vintner  in  London."  To  give  me  a  proof  of  his  art,  he  took  a 
glass  of  fair  water;  and,  by  the  infusion  of  three  drops  out  of  one 
of  his  phials,  converted  it  into  a  most  beautiful  pale  Burgundy. 
Two  more  of  the  same  kind  heightened  it  into  perfect  Languedoc: 
from  thence  it  passed  into  a  florid  Hermitage:  and  after  having 
gone  through  two  or  three  other  changes,  by  the  addition  of  a  single 
drop,  ended  in  a  very  deep  Pontac.  This  ingenious  virtuoso,  seeing 
me  very  much  surprised  at  his  art,  told  me,  that  he  had  not  an  oppor- 
tunity of  showing  it  in  perfection,  having  only  made  use  of  water  for 
the  ground-work  of  his  colouring;  but  that,  if  I  were  to  see  an  oper- 
ation upon  liquors  of  stronger  bodies,  the  art  would  appear  to  a 
much  greater  advantage.  He  added,  that  he  doubted  not  but  it 
would  please  my  curiosity  to  see  the  cyder  of  one  apple  take  only  a 
vermilion,  when  another,  with  a  less  quantity  of  the  same  infusion, 
would  rise  into  a  dark  purple,  according  to  the  different  texture  of 
parts  in  the  liquor.  He  informed  me  also,  that  he  could  hit  the 
different  shades  and  degrees  of  red,  as  they  appear  in  the  pink  and 
the  rose,  the  clove  and  the  carnation,  as  he  had  Rhenish  or  Moselle, 
Perry  or  White  Port,  to  work  in. 

I  was  so  satisfied  with  the  ingenuity  of  this  virtuoso,  that,  after 

82 


THE   TATLER 

having  advised  him  to  quit  so  dishonest  a  profession,  I  promised 
him,  in  consideration  of  his  great  genius,  to  recommend  him  as  a 
partner  to  a  friend  of  mine,  who  has  heaped  up  great  riches,  and  is 
a  scarlet-dyer. 

The  artists  on  my  other  hand  were  ordered,  in  the  second  place, 
to  make  some  experiments  of  their  skill  before  me:  upon  which  the 
famous  Harry  Sippet  stepped  out,  and  asked  me,  "  what  I  would  be 
pleased  to  drink?"  At  the  same  time  he  filled  out  three  or  four 
white  liquors  in  a  glass,  and  told  me,  "that  it  should  be  what  I 
pleased  to  call  for;"  adding  very  learnedly,  "That  liquor  before 
him  was  as  the  naked  substance,  or  first  matter  of  his  compound,  to 
which  he  and  his  friend,  who  stood  over-against  him,  could  give 
what  accidents,  or  form  they  pleased."  Finding  him  so  great  a 
philosopher,  I  desired  he  would  convey  into  it  the  qualities  and  es- 
sence of  right  Bordeaux.  "Coming,  coming,  sir,"  said  he,  with 
the  air  of  a  drawer;  and,  after  having  cast  his  eye  on  the  several 
tastes  and  flavours  that  stood  before  him,  he  took  up  a  little  cruet, 
that  was  filled  with  a  kind  of  inky  juice,  and  pouring  some  of  it  out 
into  the  glass  of  white  wine,  presented  it  to  me;  and  told  me,  "this 
was  the  wine,  over  which  most  of  the  business  of  the  last  term  had 
been  dispatched."  I  must  confess,  I  looked  upon  that  sooty  drug, 
which  he  held  up  in  his  cruet,  as  the  quintessence  of  English  Bor- 
deaux; and  therefore  desired  him  to  give  me  a  glass  of  it  by  itself, 
which  he  did  with  great  unwillingness.  My  cat  at  that  time  sat  by 
me  upon  the  elbow  of  my  chair;  and  as  I  did  not  care  for  making 
the  experiment  upon  myself,  I  reached  it  to  her  to  sip  of  it,  which 
had  like  to  have  cost  her  her  life;  for,  notwithstanding  it  flung  her 
at  first  into  freakish  tricks,  quite  contrary  to  her  usual  gravity,  in 
less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  she  fell  into  convulsions;  and,  had  it 
not  been  a  creature  more  tenacious  of  life  than  any  other,  would  cer- 
tainly have  died  under  the  operation. 

I  was  so  incensed  by  the  tortures  of  my  innocent  domestic,  and 
the  unworthy  dealings  of  these  men,  that  I  told  them,  if  each  of 
them  had  as  many  lives  as  the  injured  creature  before  them,  they 
deserved  to  forfeit  them,  for  the  pernicious  arts  which  they  used  for 
their  profit.  I  therefore  bid  them  look  upon  themselves  as  no  better 
than  as  a  kind  of  assassins  and  murderers  within  the  law.  How- 
ever, since  they  had  dealt  so  clearly  with  me,  and  laid  before 
me  their  whole  practice,  I  dismissed  them  for  that  time;  with  a 
particular  request,  that  they  would  not  poison  any  of  my  friends 

83 


THE   TATLER 

and  acquaintance,  and  take  to  some  honest    livelihood  without 
loss  of  time. 

For  my  own  part,  I  have  resolved  hereafter  to  be  very  careful  in 
my  liquors ;  and  have  agreed  with  a  friend  of  mine  in  the  army,  upon 
their  next  march,  to  secure  me  two  hogsheads  of  the  best  stomach- 
wine  in  the  cellars  of  Versailles,  for  the  good  of  my  Lucubrations, 
and  the  comfort  of  my  old  age. 


OUR   CLUB 

No.    132.]    SATURDAY,   FEBRUARY   n,    1709-10.    [STEELE.] 

Habeo  senectuti  magnam  gratiam,  quae  mihi  sermonis  aviditatem  auxit, 
potionis  et  cibi  sustulit.  —  TULL.  de  Sen. 

I  am  much  beholden  to  old  age,  which  has  increased  my  eagerness  for  con- 
versation in  proportion  as  it  has  lessened  my  appetites  of  hunger  and  thirst. 

AFTER  having  applied  my  mind  with  more  than  ordinary  at- 
tention to  my  studies,  it  is  my  usual  cusom  to  relax  and  un- 
bend it  in  the  conversation  of  such,  as  are  rather  easy  than  shining 
companions.  This  I  find  particularly  necessary  for  me  before  I  retire 
to  rest,  in  order  to  draw  my  slumbers  upon  me  by  degrees,  and  fall 
asleep  insensibly.  This  is  the  particular  use  I  make  of  a  set  of 
heavy  honest  men,  with  whom  I  have  passed  many  hours  with  much 
indolence,  though  not  with  great  pleasure.  Their  conversation  is  a 
kind  of  preparative  for  sleep :  it  takes  the  mind  down  from  its  ab- 
stractions, leads  it  into  the  familiar  traces  of  thought,  and  lulls  it 
into  that  state  of  tranquillity,  which  is  the  condition  of  a  thinking 
man,  when  he  is  but  half  awake.  After  this,  my  reader  will  not 
be  surprised  to  hear  the  account,  which  I  am  about  to  give  of  a  club 
of  my  own  contemporaries,  among  whom  I  pass  two  or  three  hours 
every  evening.  This  I  look  upon  as  taking  my  first  nap  before  I 
go  to  bed.  The  truth  of  it  is,  I  should  think  myself  unjust  to  pos- 
terity, as  well  as  to  the  society  at  the  Trumpet,  of  which  I  am  a 
member,  did  not  I  in  some  part  of  my  writings  give  an  account  of  the 
persons  among  whom  I  have  passed  almost  a  sixth  part  of  my  time 
for  these  last  forty  years.  Our  club  consisted  originally  of  fifteen; 
but,  partly  by  the  severity  of  the  law  in  arbitrary  times,  and  partly 
by  the  natural  effects  of  old  age,  we  are  at  present  reduced  to  a  third 

84 


THE   TATLER 

part  of  that  number:  in  which,  however,  we  hear  this  consolation, 
that  the  best  company  is  said  to  consist  of  five  persons,  I  must  con- 
fess, besides  the  aforementioned  benefit  which  I  meet  with  in  the 
conversation  of  this  select  society,  I  am  not  the  less  pleased  with  the 
company,  in  that  I  find  myself  the  greatest  wit  among  them,  and  am 
heard  as  their  oracle  in  all  points  of  learning  and  difficulty. 

Sir  Jeoffrey  Notch,  who  is  the  oldest  of  the  club,  has  been  in  pos- 
session of  the  right-hand  chair  time  out  of  mind,  and  is  the  only 
man  among  us  that  has  the  liberty  of  stirring  the  fire.  This  our 
foreman  is  a  gentleman  of  an  ancient  family,  that  came  to  a  great 
estate  some  years  before  he  had  discretion,  and  run  it  out  in  hounds, 
horses,  and  cock-fighting;  for  which  reason  he  looks  upon  himself 
as  an  honest,  worthy  gentleman,  who  has  had  misfortunes  in  the 
world,  and  calls  every  thriving  man  a  pitiful  upstart. 

Major  Matchlock  is  the  next  senior,  who  served  in  the  last  civil 
wars,  and  has  all  the  battles  by  heart.  He  does  not  think  any  action 
in  Europe  worth  talking  of  since  the  fight  of  Marston  Moor;  and 
every  night  tells  us  of  his  having  been  knocked  off  his  horse  at  the 
rising  of  the  London  apprentices*  for  which  he  is  in  great  esteem 
among  us. 

Honest  old  Dick  Reptile  is  the  third  of  our  society.  He  is  a 
good-natured  indolent  man,  who  speaks  little  himself,  but  laughs 
at  our  jokes;  and  brings  his  young  nephew  along  with  him,  a  youth 
of  eighteen  years  old,  to  shew  him  good  company,  and  give  him  a 
taste  of  the  world.  This  young  fellow  sits  generally  silent;  but 
whenever  he  opens  his  mouth,  or  laughs  at  anything  that  passes, 
he  is  constantly  told  by  his  uncle,  after  a  jocular  manner,  "  Ay,  ay, 
Jack,  you  young  men  think  us  fools;  but  we  old  men  know  you  are." 

The  greatest  wit  of  our  company,  next  to  myself,  is  a  Bencher 
of  the  neighbouring  Inn,  who  in  his  youth  frequented  the  ordi- 
naries about  Charing  Cross,  and  pretends  to  have  been  intimate 
with  Jack  Ogle.  He  has  about  ten  distichs  of  Hudibras  without 
book,  and  never  leaves  the  club  until  he  has  applied  them  all.  If 
any  modern  wit  be  mentioned,  or  any  town-frolic  spoken  of,  he 
shakes  his  head  at  the  dulness  of  the  present  age,  and  tells  us  a 
story  of  Jack  Ogle. 

For  my  own  part,  I  am  esteemed  among  them,  because  they  see 
I  am  something  respected  by  others;  though  at  the  same  time  I 
understand  by  their  behaviour,  that  I  am  considered  by  them  as 
a  man  of  a  great  deal  of  learning,  but  no  knowledge  of  the  world; 

85 


THE    TATLER 

insomuch,  that  the  Major  sometimes,  in  the  height  of  his  military 
pride,  calls  me  the  Philosopher:  and  Sir  Jeoffrey,  no  longer  ago 
than  last  night,  upon  a  dispute  what  day  of  the  month  it  was  then 
in  Holland,  pulled  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth,  and  cried,  "What 
does  the  scholar  say  to  it?" 

Our  club  meets  precisely  at  six  o'clock  in  the  evening;  but  I  did 
not  come  last  night  until  half  an  hour  after  seven,  by  which  means 
I  escaped  the  battle  of  Naseby,  which  the  Major  usually  begins  at 
about  three-quarters  after  six:  I  found  also,  that  my  good  friend 
the  Bencher  had  already  spent  three  of  his  distichs;  and  only  waited 
an  opportunity  to  hear  a  sermon  spoken  of,  that  he  might  introduce 
the  couplet  where  "a  stick"  rhymes  to  "ecclesiastic."  At  my 
entrance  into  the  room,  they  were  naming  a  red  petticoat  and  a 
cloak,  by  which  I  found  that  the  Bencher  had  been  diverting  them 
with  a  story  of  Jack  Ogle. 

I  had  no  sooner  taken  my  seat,  but  Sir  Jeoffrey,  to  show  his  good- 
will towards  me,  gave  me  a  pipe  of  his  own  tobacco,  and  stirred  up 
the  fire.  I  look  upon  it  as  a  point  of  morality,  to  be  obliged  by  those 
who  endeavour  to  oblige  me;  and  therefore,  in  requittal  for  his  kind- 
ness, and  to  set  the  conversation  a-going,  I  took  the  best  occasion 
I  could  to  put  him  upon  telling  us  the  story  of  old  Gantlett,  which 
he  always  does  with  very  particular  concern.  He  traced  up  his 
descent  on  both  sides  for  several  generations,  describing  his  diet 
and  manner  of  life,  with  his  several  battles,  and  particularly  that 
in  which  he  fell.  This  Gantlett  was  a  gamecock,  upon  whose  head 
the  knight,  in  his  youth,  had  won  five  hundred  pounds,  and  lost 
two  thousand.  This  naturally  set  the  Major  upon  the  account 
of  Edge  Hill  fight,  and  ended  in  a  duel  of  Jack  Ogle's. 

Old  Reptile  was  extremely  attentive  to  all  that  was  said,  though 
it  was  the  same  he  had  heard  every  night  for  these  twenty  years, 
and,  upon  all  occasions,  winked  upon  his  nephew  to  mind  what 
passed. 

This  may  suffice  to  give  the  world  a  taste  of  our  innocent  conver- 
sation, which  we  spun  out  until  about  ten  of  the  clock,  when  my 
maid  came  with  a  lantern  to  light  me  home.  I  could  not  but  reflect 
with  myself,  as  I  was  going  out,  upon  the  talkative  humour  of  old 
men,  and  the  little  figure  which  that  part  of  life  makes  in  one  who 
cannot  employ  his  natural  propensity  in  discourses  which  would 
make  him  venerable.  I  must  own,  it  makes  me  very  melancholy 
in  company,  when  I  hear  a  young  man  begin  a  story;  and  have 

86 


often  observed,  that  one  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour  long  in  a  man  of 
five-and-twenty,  gathers  circumstances  every  time  he  tells  it,  until 
it  grows  into  a  long  Canterbury  tale  of  two  hours  by  that  time  he 
is  threescore. 

The  only  way  of  avoiding  such  a  trifling  and  frivolous  old  age 
is,  to  lay  up  in  our  way  to  it  such  stores  of  knowledge  and  observa- 
tion, as  may  make  us  useful  and  agreeable  in  our  declining  years. 
The  mind  of  man  in  a  long  life  will  become  a  magazine  of  wisdom 
or  folly,  and  will  consequently  discharge  itself  in  something  imperti- 
nent or  improving.  For  which  reason,  as  there  is  nothing  more 
ridiculous  than  an  old  trifling  story-teller,  so  there  is  nothing  more 
venerable,  than  one  who  has  turned  his  experience  to  the  enter- 
tainment and  advantage  of  mankind. 

In  short,  we,  who  are  in  the  last  stage  of  life,  and  are  apt  to 
indulge  ourselves  in  talk,  ought  to  consider,  if  what  we  speak  be 
worth  being  heard,  and  endeavour  to  make  our  discourse  like  that 
of  Nestor,  which  Homer  compares  to  the  flowing  of  honey  for  its 
sweetness. 


TOM    VARNISH 

No.   136.]    TUESDAY,   FEBRUARY  21,   1709-10.     [STEELE.] 

Deprendi  miserum  est:  Fabio  vel  judice  vincam. 

HOR.  i  SAT.  ii.  ver.  ult. 

To  be  surpris'd,  is,  sure  a  wretched  tale, 
And  for  the  truth  to  Fabius  I  appeal. 

BECAUSE  I  have  a  professed  aversion  to  long  beginnings  of 
stories,  I  will  go  into  this  at  once,  by  telling  you,  that  there 
dwells  near  the  Royal  Exchange  as  happy  a  couple  as  ever  entered 
into  wedlock.  These  live  in  that  mutual  confidence  of  each  other, 
which  renders  the  satisfaction  of  marriage  even  greater  than  those 
of  friendship,  and  makes  wife  and  husband  the  dearest  appellations 
of  human  life.  Mr.  Balance  is  a  merchant  of  good  consideration, 
and  understands  the  world,  not  from  speculation,  but  practice. 
His  wife  is  the  daughter  of  an  honest  house,  ever  bred  in  a  family- 
way;  and  has,  from  a  natural  good  understanding,  and  great  inno- 

87 


THE  TATLER 

cence,  a  freedom  which  men  of  sense  know  to  be  the  certain  sign  of 
virtue,  and  fools  take  to  be  an  encouragement  to  vice. 

Tom  Varnish,  a  young  gentleman  of  the  Middle-Temple,  by  the 
bounty  of  a  good  father,  who  was  so  obliging  as  to  die,  and  leave 
him,  in  his  twenty-fourth  year,  besides  a  good  estate,  a  large  sum 
which  lay  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Balance,  had  by  this  means  an 
intimacy  at  his  house;  and  being  one  of  those  hard  students  who 
read  plays  for  the  improvement  in  the  law,  took  his  rules  of  life 
from  thence.  Upon  mature  deliberation,  he  conceived  it  very 
proper,  that  he,  as  a  man  of  wit  and  pleasure  of  the  town,  should 
have  an  intrigue  with  his  merchant's  wife.  He  no  sooner  thought 
of  this  adventure,  but  he  began  it  by  an  amorous  epistle  to  the 
lady,  and  a  faithful  promise  to  wait  upon  her  at  a  certain  hour  the 
next  evening,  when  he  knew  her  husband  was  to  be  absent. 

The  letter  was  no  sooner  received,  but  it  was  communicated  to 
the  husband,  and  produced  no  other  effect  in  him,  than  that  he 
joined  with  his  wife  to  raise  all  the  mirth  they  could  out  of  this 
fantastical  piece  of  gallantry.  They  were  so  little  concerned  at 
this  dangerous  man  of  mode,  that  they  plotted  ways  to  perplex  him 
without  hurting  him.  Varnish  comes  exactly  at  his  hour;  and  the 
lady's  well-acted  confusion  at  his  entrance  gave  him  opportunity  to 
repeat  some  couplets  very  fit  for  the  occasion  with  very  much  grace 
and  spirit.  His  theatrical  manner  of  making  love  was  interrupted 
by  an  alarm  of  the  husband's  coming;  and  the  wife,  in  a  personated 
terror,  beseeched  him,  "if  he  had  any  value  for  the  honour  of  a 
woman  that  loved  him,  he  would  jump  out  of  the  window."  He 
did  so,  and  fell  upon  feather-beds  placed  on  purpose  to  receive  him. 

It  is  not  to  be  conceived  how  great  the  joy  of  an  amorous  man  is, 
when  he  has  suffered  for  his  mistress,  and  is  never  the  worse  for  it. 
Varnish  the  next  day  writ  a  most  elegant  billet,  wherein  he  said  all 
that  imagination  could  form  upon  the  occasion.  He  violently  pro- 
tested, "  going  out  of  the  window  was  no  way  terrible,  but  as  it  was 
going  from  her;"  with  several  other  kind  expressions,  which  pro- 
cured him  a  second  assignation.  Upon  his  second  visit,  he  was  con- 
veyed by  a  faithful  maid  into  her  bed  chamber,  and  left  there  to 
expect  the  arrival  of  her  mistress.  But  the  wench,  according  to 
her  instructions,  ran  in  again  to  him,  and  locked  the  door  after  her 
to  keep  out  her  master.  She  had  just  time  enough  to  convey  the 
lover  into  a  chest  before  she  admitted  the  husband  and  his  wife  into 
the  room. 

88 


THE   TATLER 

You  may  be  sure  that  trunk  was  absolutely  necessary  to  be 
opened;  but  upon  her  husband's  ordering  it,  she  assured  him, 
"she  had  taken  all  the  care  imaginable  in  packing  up  the  things 
with  her  own  hands,  and  he  might  send  the  trunk  abroad  as  soon 
as  he  thought  fit."  The  easy  husband  believed  his  wife,  and  the 
good  couple  went  to  bed ;  Varnish  having  the  happiness  to  pass  the 
night  in  the  mistress's  bedchamber  without  molestation.  The 
morning  arose,  but  our  lover  was  not  well  situated  to  observe  her 
blushes;  so  that  all  we  know  of  his  sentiments  on  this  occasion  is, 
that  he  heard  Balance  ask  for  the  key,  and  say,  "  he  would  himself 
go  with  this  chest,  and  have  it  opened  before  the  captain  of  the 
ship,  for  the  greater  safety  of  so  valuable  a  lading." 

The  goods  were  hoisted  away;  and  Mr.  Balance,  marching  by 
his  chest  with  great  care  and  diligence,  omitting  nothing  that  might 
give  his  passenger  perplexity.  But,  to  consummate  all,  he  deliv- 
ered the  chest,  with  strict  charge,  "in  case  they  were  in  danger  of 
being  taken,  to  throw  it  overboard,  for  there  were  letters  in  it,  the 
matter  of  which  might  be  of  great  service  to  the  enemy." 


KICKSHAWS 

No.  148.]    TUESDAY,  MARCH  21,  1709-10.    [ADDISON.] 

Gustus  elementa  per  omnia  quaerunt, 

Nunquam  animo  pretiis  obstantibus . 

Juv.  SAT.  xi.  14. 

They  ransack  every  element  for  choice 
Of  every  fish  and  fowl,  at  any  price. 

HAVING  intimated  in  my  last  paper,  that  I  design  to  take 
under  my  inspection  the  diet  of  this  great  city,  I  shall  begin 
with  a  very  earnest  and  serious  exhortation  to  all  my  well-disposed 
readers,  that  they  would  return  to  the  food  of  their  forefathers,  and 
reconcile  themselves  to  beef  and  mutton.  This  was  the  diet  which 
bred  that  hardy  race  of  mortals  who  won  the  fields  of  Cressy  and 
Agincourt.  I  need  not  go  up  so  high  as  the  history  of  Guy,  earl  of 
Warwick,  who  is  well  known  to  have  eaten  up  a  dun  cow  of  his  own 
killing.  The  renowned  King  Arthur  is  generally  looked  upon  as 
the  first  who  ever  sat  down  to  a  whole  roasted  ox,  which  was  cer- 


THE   TATLER 

tainly  the  best  way  to  preserve  the  gravy;  and  it  is  farther  added, 
that  he  and  his  knights  sat  about  it  at  his  round  table,  and  usually 
consumed  it  to  the  very  bones  before  they  would  enter  upon  any 
debate  of  moment.  The  Black  Prince  was  a  professed  lover  of  the 
Brisket;  not  to  mention  the  history  of  the  Surloin,  or  the  institution 
of  the  order  of  Beef -eaters ;  which  are  all  so  many  evident  and  unde- 
niable marks  of  the  great  respect,  which  our  warlike  predecessors 
have  paid  to  this  excellent  food.  The  tables  of  the  ancient  gentry 
of  this  nation  were  covered  thrice  a  day  with  hot  roast  beef;  and  I 
am  credibly  informed,  by  an  antiquary  who  has  searched  the  regis- 
ters in  which  the  bills  of  fare  of  the  court  are  recorded,  that  instead 
of  tea  and  bread  and  butter,  which  have  prevailed  of  late  years,  the 
maids  of  honour  in  Queen  Elizabeth's  time  were  allowed  three 
rumps  of  beef  for  their  breakfast.  Mutton  has  likewise  been  in 
great  repute  among  our  valiant  countrymen;  but  was  formerly 
observed  to  be  the  food  rather  of  men  of  nice  and  delicate  appe- 
tites, than  those  of  strong  and  robust  constitutions.  For  which 
reason,  even  to  this  day,  we  use  the  word  Sheep-biter  as  a  term  of 
reproach,  as  we  do  Beef-eater  in  a  respectful  and  honourable  sense. 
As  for  the  flesh  of  lamb,  veal,  chicken,  and  other  animals  under 
age,  they  were  the  invention  of  sickly  and  degenerate  palates, 
according  to  that  wholesome  remark  of  Daniel  the  historian; 
who  takes  notice,  that  in  all  taxes  upon  provisions,  during  the 
reigns  of  several  of  our  kings,  there  is  nothing  mentioned  besides 
the  flesh  of  such  fowl  and  cattle  as  were  arrived  at  their  full  growth, 
and  were  mature  for  slaughter.  The  common  people  of  this  king- 
dom do  still  keep  up  the  taste  of  their  ancestors;  and  it  is  to  this 
that  we,  in  a  great  measure,  owe  the  unparalleled  victories  that 
have  been  gained  in  this  reign :  for  I  would  desire  my  reader  to  con- 
sider, what  work  our  countrymen  would  have  made  at  Blenheim 
and  Ramillies,  if  they  had  been  fed  with  fricassees  and  ragouts. 

For  this  reason,  we  at  present  see  the  florid  complexion,  the 
strong  limb,  and  the  hale  constitution,  are  to  be  found  chiefly 
among  the  meaner  sort  of  people,  or  in  the  wild  gentry  who  have 
been  educated  among  the  woods  or  mountains.  Whereas  many 
great  families  are  insensibly  fallen  off  from  the  athletic  constitution 
of  their  progenitors,  and  are  dwindled  away  into  a  pale,  sickly, 
spindle-legged  generation  of  valetudinarians. 

I  may  perhaps,  be  thought  extravagant  hi  my  notion;  but  I 
must  confess,  I  am  apt  to  impute  the  dishonours  that  sometimes 

90 


THE   TATLER 

happen  in  great  families,  to  the  inflaming  kind  of  diet  which  is  so 
much  in  fashion.  Many  dishes  can  excite  desire  without  giving 
strength,  and  heat  the  body  without  nourishing  it;  as  physicians 
observe,  that  the  poorest  and  most  dispirited  blood  is  most  subject 
to  fevers.  I  look  upon  a  French  ragout  to  be  as  pernicious  to  the 
stomach  as  a  glass  of  spirits;  and  when  I  have  seen  a  young  lady 
swallow  all  the  instigations  of  high  soups,  seasoned  sauces,  and 
forced  meats,  I  have  wondered  at  the  despair  or  tedious  fighting  of 
her  lovers. 

The  rules  among  these  false  Delicates  are,  to  be  as  contradictory 
as  they  can  be  to  nature. 

Without  expecting  the  return  of  hunger,  they  eat  for  an  appetite, 
and  prepare  dishes,  not  to  allay,  but  to  excite  it. 

They  admit  of  nothing  at  their  tables  in  its  natural  form,  or 
without  a  disguise. 

They  are  to  eat  of  everything  before  it  comes  in  season,  and 
to  leave  it  off  as  soon  as  it  is  good  to  be  eaten. 

They  are  not  to  approve  anything  that  is  agreeable  to  ordinary 
palates;  and  nothing  is  to  gratify  their  senses,  but  what  would 
offend  those  of  their  inferiors. 

I  remember  I  was  last  summer  invited  to  a  friend's  house,  who 
is  a  great  admirer  of  the  French  cookery,  and,  as  the  phrase  is, 
"eats  well."  At  our  sitting  down,  I  found  the  table  covered  with  a 
great  variety  of  unknown  dishes.  I  was  mightily  at  a  loss  to  learn 
what  they  were,  and  therefore  did  not  know  where  to  help  myself. 
That  which  stood  before  me  I  took  to  be  a  roasted  porcupine, 
however  did  not  care  for  asking  questions;  and  have  since  been 
informed,  that  it  was  only  a  larded  turkey.  I  afterwards  passed 
my  eye  over  several  hashes,  which  I  do  not  know  the  names  of  to 
this  day;  and,  hearing  that  they  were  delicacies,  did  not  think  fit 
to  meddle  with  them. 

Among  other  dainties,  I  saw  something  like  a  pheasant,  and, 
therefore  desired  to  be  helped  to  a  whig  of  it;  but,  to  my  great 
surprise,  my  friend  told  me  it  was  a  rabbit,  which  is  a  sort  of  meat 
I  never  cared  for.  At  last  I  discovered,  with  some  joy,  a  pig  at  the 
lower  end  of  the  table,  and  begged  a  gentleman  that  was  near  it  to 
cut  me  a  piece  of  it.  Upon  which  the  gentleman  of  the  house  said, 
with  great  civility,  "I  am  sure  you  will  like  the  pig,  for  it  was 
whipped  to  death."  I  must  confess,  I  heard  him  with  horror,  and 
could  not  eat  of  an  animal  that  had  died  so  tragical  a  death.  I  was 

91 


THE   TATLER 

now  in  great  hunger  and  confusion,  when  methought  I  smelled  the 
agreeable  savour  of  roast  beef;  but  could  not  tell  from  which  dish  it 
arose,  though  I  did  not  question  but  it  lay  disguised  in  one  of  them, 
Upon  turning  my  head,  I  saw  a  noble  surloin  on  the  side-table 
smoking  in  the  most  delicious  manner.  I  had  recourse  to  it  more 
than  once,  and  could  not  see  without  some  indignation  that  sub- 
stantial English  dish  banished  in  so  ignominious  a  manner,  to  make 
way  for  French  kickshaws. 

The  desert  was  brought  up  at  last,  which  in  truth  was  as  extraor- 
dinary as  anything  that  had  come  before  it.  The  whole,  when 
ranged  in  its  proper  order,  looked  like  a  very  beautiful  winter- 
piece.  There  were  several  pyramids  of  candied  sweetmeats,  that 
hung  like  icicles,  with  fruits  scattered  up  and  down,  and  hid  in  an 
artificial  kind  of  frost.  At  the  same  time  there  were  great  quantities 
of  cream  beaten  up  into  a  snow,  and  near  them  little  plates  of  sugar- 
plums, disposed  like  so  many  heaps  of  hail-stones,  with  a  multitude 
of  congelations  in  jellies  of  various  colours.  I  was  indeed  so  pleased 
with  the  several  objects  which  lay  before  me,  that  I  did  not  care  for 
displacing  any  of  them;  and  was  half  angry  with  the  rest  of  the 
company,  that,  for  the  sake  of  a  piece  of  lemon-peel,  or  a  sugar- 
plum, would  spoil  so  pleasing  a  picture.  Indeed,  I  could  not  but 
smile  to  see  several  of  them  cooling  their  mouths  with  lumps  of  ice 
which  they  had  just  before  been  burning  with  salts  and  peppers. 

As  soon  as  this  show  was  over,  I  took  my  leave,  that  I  might 
finish  my  dinner  at  my  own  house.  For  as  I  in  everything  love 
what  is  simple  and  natural,  so  particularly  in  my  food;  two  plain 
dishes,  with  two  or  three  good-natured,  cheerful,  ingenious  friends, 
would  make  me  more  pleased  and  vain,  than  all  that  pomp  and 
luxury  can  bestow.  For  it  is  my  maxim  that  "  he  keeps  the  greatest 
table  who  has  the  most  valuable  company  at  it." 


92 


THE   TATLER 


BEAUTY   UNADORNED 

No.  151.]    TUESDAY,  MARCH  28,  1710.    [STEELE. 

Ni  vis  boni 

In  ipsa  inesset  forma,  haec  formam  extinguerent. — TER. 

These  things  would  extinguish  beauty,  if  there  were  not  an  innate  pleasure- 
giving  energy  in  beauty  itself. 

WHEN  artists  would  expose  their  diamonds  to  an  advantage, 
they  usually  set  them  to  show  in  little  cases  of  black  velvet. 
By  this  means  the  jewels  appear  in  their  true  and  genuine  lustre, 
while  there  is  no  colour  that  can  infect  their  brightness,  or  give  a  false 
cast  to  the  water.  When  I  was  at  the  opera  the  other  night,  the 
assembly  of  ladies  in  mourning  made  me  consider  them  in  the 
same  kind  of  view.  A  dress  wherein  there  is  so  little  variety  shews 
the  face  in  all  its  natural  charms,  and  makes  one  differ  from  another 
only  as  it  is  more  or  less  beautiful.  Painters  are  ever  careful  of 
offending  against  a  rule  which  is  so  essential  in  all  just  representa- 
tions. The  chief  figure  must  have  the  strongest  point  of  light,  and 
not  be  injured  by  any  gay  colourings,  that  may  draw  away  the 
attention  to  any  less  considerable  part  of  the  picture.  The  present 
fashion  obliges  every  body  to  be  dressed  with  propriety,  and  makes 
the  ladies'  faces  the  principal  objects  of  sight.  Every  beautiful 
person  shines  out  in  all  the  excellence  with  which  nature  has 
adorned  her;  gaudy  ribbands  and  glaring  colours  being  now  out  of 
use,  the  sex  has  no  opportunity  given  them  to  disfigure  themselves, 
which  they  seldom  fail  to  do  whenever  it  lies  in  their  power.  When 
a  woman  comes  to  her  glass,  she  does  not  employ  her  time  in  making 
herself  look  more  advantageously  what  she  really  is;  but  endeavours 
to  be  as  much  another  creature  as  she  possibly  can.  Whether  this 
happens  because  they  stay  so  long,  and  attend  their  work  so  dili- 
gently, that  they  forget  the  faces  and  persons  which  they  first  sat 
down  with,  or  whatever  it  is,  they  seldom  rise  from  the  toilet  the 
same  women  they  appeared  when  they  began  to  dress.  What 
jewel  can  the  charming  Cleora  place  in  her  ears,  that  can  please 
her  beholders  so  much  as  her  eyes  ?  The  cluster  of  diamonds  upon 
the  breast  can  add  no  beauty  to  the  fair  chest  of  ivory  which  supports 
it.  It  may  indeed  tempt  a  man  to  steal  a  woman,  but  never  to  love 

93 


THE   TATLER 

her.  Let  Thalestris  change  herself  into  a  motley,  party-coloured 
animal:  the  pearl  necklace,  the  flowered  stomacher,  the  artificial 
nosegay,  and  shaded  furbelow,  may  be  of  use  to  attract  the  eye  of 
her  beholder,  and  turn  it  from  the  imperfections  of  her  features 
and  shape.  But  if  ladies  will  take  my  word  for  it  (and  as  they 
dress  to  please  men,  they  ought  to  consult  our  fancy  rather  than 
their  own  in  this  particular),  I  can  assure  them,  there  is  nothing 
touches  our  imagination  so  much  as  a  beautiful  woman  hi  a  plain 
dress.  There  might  be  more  agreeable  ornaments  found  in  our 
own  manufacture,  than  any  that  rise  out  of  the  looms  of  Persia. 

This,  I  know,  is  a  very  harsh  doctrine  to  woman-kind,  who  are 
carried  away  with  every  thing  that  is  showy,  and  with  what  delights 
the  eye,  more  than  any  other  species  of  living  creatures  whatso- 
ever. Were  the  minds  of  the  sex  laid  open,  we  should  find  the 
chief  idea  in  one  to  be  a  tippet,  in  another  a  muff,  in  a  third  a  fan, 
and  hi  a  fourth  a  fardingal.  The  memory  of  an  old  visiting  lady 
is  so  filled  with  gloves,  silks,  and  ribbands,  that  I  can  look  upon  it 
as  nothing  else  but  a  toy-shop.  A  matron  of  my  acquaintance, 
complaining  of  her  daughter's  vanity,  was  observing,  that  she  had 
all  of  a  sudden  held  up  her  head  higher  than  ordinary,  and  taken 
an  air  that  shewed  a  secret  satisfaction  in  herself,  mixed  with  a 
scorn  of  others.  "I  did  not  know,"  says  my  friend,  "what  to 
make  of  the  carriage  of  this  fantastical  girl,  until  I  was  informed 
by  her  eldest  sister,  that  she  had  a  pah*  of  striped  garters  on." 
This  odd  turn  of  mind  makes  the  sex  unhappy,  and  disposes  them 
to  be  struck  with  every  thing  that  makes  a  show,  however  trifling 
and  superficial. 

Many  a  lady  has  fetched  a  sigh  at  the  toss  of  a  wig,  and  been 
ruined  by  the  tapping  of  a  snuff-box.  It  is  impossible  to  describe 
all  the  execution  that  was  done  by  the  shoulder-knot,  while  that 
fashion  prevailed,  or  to  reckon  up  all  the  virgins  that  have  fallen  a 
sacrifice  to  a  pair  of  fringed  gloves.  A  sincere  heart  has  not  made 
half  so  many  conquests  as  an  open  waistcoat;  and  I  should  be  glad 
to  see  an  able  head  make  so  good  a  figure  in  a  woman's  company  as 
a  pair  of  red  heels.  A  Grecian  hero,  when  he  was  asked  whether 
he  could  play  upon  the  lute,  thought  he  had  made  a  good  reply, 
when  he  answered,  "  No;  but  I  can  make  a  great  city  of  a  little  one." 
Notwithstanding  his  boasted  wisdom,  I  appeal  to  the  heart  of  any 
Toast  in  town,  whether  she  would  not  think  the  lutenist  preferable 
to  the  statesman  ?  I  do  not  speak  this  out  of  any  aversion  that  I 

94 


THE   TATLER 

have  to  the  sex:  on  the  contrary,  I  have  always  had  a  tenderness 
for  them;  but,  I  must  confess,  it  troubles  me  very  much,  to  see  the 
generality  of  them  place  their  affections  on  improper  objects,  and 
give  up  all  the  pleasures  of  life  for  gewgaws  and  trifles. 

Mrs.  Margery  Bickerstaff,  my  great  aunt,  had  a  thousand 
pounds  to  her  portion,  which  our  family  was  desirous  of  keeping 
among  themselves,  and  therefore  used  all  possible  means  to  turn  off 
her  thoughts  from  marriage.  The  method  they  took  was,  in  any 
time  of  danger,  to  throw  a  new  gown  or  petticoat  in  her  way.  When 
she  was  about  twenty-five  years  of  age,  she  fell  in  love  with  a  man 
of  an  agreeable  temper  and  equal  fortune,  and  would  certainly  have 
married  him,  had  not  my  grandfather,  Sir  Jacob,  dressed  her  up  in 
a  suit  of  flowered  satin ;  upon  which  she  set  so  immoderate  a  value 
upon  herself,  that  the  lover  was  contemned  and  discarded.  In  the 
fortieth  year  of  her  age,  she  was  again  smitten;  but  very  luckily 
transferred  her  passion  to  a  tippet,  which  was  presented  to  her  by 
another  relation  who  was  in  the  plot.  This,  with  a  white  sarsenet 
hood,  kept  her  safe  in  the  family  until  fifty.  About  sixty,  which 
generally  produces  a  kind  of  latter  spring  in  amorous  constitutions, 
my  aunt  Margery  had  again  a  colt's  tooth  in  her  head;  and  would 
certainly  have  eloped  from  the  mansion-house,  had  not  her  brother 
Simon,  who  was  a  wise  man  and  a  scholar,  advised  to  dress  her  in 
cherry-coloured  ribbands,  which  was  the  only  expedient  that  could 
have  been  found  out  by  the  wit  of  man  to  preserve  the  thousand 
pounds  in  our  family,  part  of  which  I  enjoy  at  this  time. 

This  discourse  puts  me  in  mind  of  an  humourist  mentioned  by 
Horace,  called  Eutrapelus,  who,  when  he  designed  to  do  a  man  a 
mischief,  made  him  a  present  of  a  gay  suit;  and  brings  to  my  mem- 
ory another  passage  of  the  same  author,  when  he  describes  the 
most  ornamental  dress  that  a  woman  can  appear  in  with  two  words, 
Simplex  Munditiis,  which  I  have  quoted  for  the  benefit  of  my  fe- 
male readers. 


THE    TATLER 

THE    POLITICAL   UPHOLSTERER 

No.  155.]    THURSDAY,  APRIL  6,  1710.    [ADDISON.] 

Aliena  negotia  curat, 

Excussus  propriis.  HOR.  3  SAT.  ii.  19. 

When  he  had  lost  all  business  of  his  own, 
He  ran  in  puest  of  news  through  all  the  town. 

THERE  lived  some  years  since,  within  my  neighbourhood,  a 
very  grave  person,  an  upholsterer,  who  seemed  a  man  of  more 
than  ordinary  application  to  business.  He  was  a  very  early  riser, 
and  was  often  abroad  two  or  three  hours  before  any  of  his  neigh- 
bours. He  had  a  particular  carefulness  in  the  knitting  of  his  brows, 
and  a  kind  of  impatience  in  all  his  motions,  that  plainly  discovered 
he  was  always  intent  on  matters  of  importance.  Upon  my  inquiry 
into  his  life  and  conversation,  I  found  him  to  be  the  greatest  news- 
monger in  our  quarter;  that  he  rose  before  day  to  read  the  Post- 
man ;  and  that  he  would  take  two  or  three  turns  to  the  other  end  of 
the  town  before  his  neighbours  were  up,  to  see  if  there  were  any 
Dutch  mails  come  in.  He  had  a  wife  and  several  children ;  but  was 
much  more  inquisitive  to  know  what  passed  in  Poland  than  in  his 
own  family,  and  was  in  greater  pain  and  anxiety  of  mind  for  King 
Augustus's  welfare,  than  that  of  his  nearest  relations.  He  looked 
extremely  thin  in  a  dearth  of  news,  and  never  enjoyed  himself  in  a 
westerly  wind.  This  indefatigable  kind  of  life  was  the  ruin  of  his 
shop;  for,  about  the  time  that  his  favourite  prince  left  the  crown 
of  Poland,  he  broke  and  disappeared. 

This  man  and  his  affairs  had  been  long  out  of  my  mind,  until 
about  three  days  ago,  as  I  was  walking  in  St.  James's  Park,  I  heard 
somebody  at  a  distance  hemming  after  me:  and  who  should  it  be 
but  my  old  neighbour  the  upholsterer?  I  saw  he  was  reduced  to 
extreme  poverty,  by  certain  shabby  superfluities  in  his  dress;  for, 
notwithstanding  that  it  was  a  very  sultry  day  for  the  time  of  the 
year,  he  wore  a  loose  great-coat  and  a  muff,  with  a  long  campaign 
wig  out  of  curl;  to  which  he  had  added  the  ornament  of  a  pair  of 
black  garters  buckled  under  the  knee.  Upon  his  coming  to  me, 
I  was  going  to  inquire  into  his  present  circumstances ;  but  was  pre- 
vented by  his  asking  me,  with  a  whisper,  "  whether  the  last  letters 

96 


THE   TATLER 

brought  any  accounts  that  one  might  rely  upon  from  Bender?" 
I  told  him,  "None  that  I  heard  of;"  and  asked  him,  "whether  he 
had  yet  married  his  eldest  daughter?"  He  told  me,  "no.  But 
pray,"  says  he,  "tell  me  sincerely,  what  are  your  thoughts  of  the 
king  of  Sweden?"  For  though  his  wife  and  children  were  starv- 
ing, I  found  his  chief  concern  at  present  was  for  this  great  monarch. 
I  told  him,  "that  I  looked  upon  him  as  one  of  the  first  heroes  of 
the  age."  "But  pray,"  says  he,  "do  you  think  there  is  any  truth 
in  the  story  of  his  wound?"  And  finding  me  surprised  at  the 
question,  "  Nay,"  says  he,  "  I  only  propose  it  to  you."  I  answered, 
"  that  I  thought  there  was  no  reason  to  doubt  of  it."  "  But  why  in 
the  heel,"  says  he,  "more  than  in  any  other  part  of  the  body?" 
"  Because,"  said  I,  "  the  bullet  chanced  to  light  there." 

This  extraordinary  dialogue  was  no  sooner  ended,  but  he  began 
to  launch  out  into  a  long  dissertation  upon  the  affairs  of  the  North; 
and  after  having  spent  some  time  on  them,  he  told  me,  he  was  in 
a  great  perplexity  how  to  reconcile  "  The  Supplement "  with  "  The 
English-Post,"  and  had  been  just  now  examining  what  the  other 
papers  say  upon  the  same  subject.  "'The  Daily  Courant,'"  says 
he,  "has  these  words:  'We  have  advices  from  very  good  hand,  that 
a  certain  prince  has  some  matters  of  great  importance  under  con- 
sideration.' This  is  very  mysterious;  but  the  Post-boy  leaves  us 
more  in  the  dark ;  for  he  tells  us, '  That  there  are  private  intimations 
of  measures  taken  by  a  certain  prince,  which  time  will  bring  to 
light.'  Now  the  '  Post-man,' "  says  he,  "  who  used  to  be  very  clear, 
refers  to  the  same  news  in  these  words;  'The  late  conduct  of  a 
certain  prince  affords  great  matter  of  speculation.'  This  certain 
prince,"  says  the  upholsterer,  "whom  they  are  all  so  cautious  of 
naming,  I  take  to  be ."  Upon  which,  though  there  was  no- 
body near  us,  he  whispered  something  in  my  ear,  which  I  did  not 
hear,  or  think  worth  my  while  to  make  him  repeat. 

We  were  now  got  to  the  upper  end  of  the  Mall,  where  were  three 
or  four  very  odd  fellows  sitting  together  upon  the  bench.  These 
I  found  were  all  of  them  politicians,  who  used  to  sun  themselves 
in  that  place  every  day  about  dinner-time.  Observing  them  to  be 
curiosities  in  their  kind,  and  my  friend's  acquaintance,  I  sat  down 
among  them. 

The  chief  politician  of  the  bench  was  a  great  asserter  of  para- 
doxes. He  told  us,  with  a  seeming  concern,  "that,  by  some  news 
he  had  lately  read  from  Muscovy,  it  appeared  to  him  that  there 

97 


THE   TATLER 

was  a  storm  gathering  in  the  Black  Sea,  which  might  in  time  do 
hurt  to  the  naval  forces  of  this  nation."  To  this  he  added,  "  that, 
for  his  part,  he  could  not  wish  to  see  the  Turk  driven  out  of  Europe, 
which  he  believed  could  not  but  be  prejudicial  to  our  woollen  manu- 
facture." He  then  told  us,  "  that  he  looked  upon  those  extraordi- 
nary revolutions  which  had  lately  happened  in  those  parts  of  the 
world,  to  have  risen  chiefly  from  two  persons  who  were  not  much 
talked  of;  and  those,"  says  he,  "are  Prince  Menzikoff,  and  the 
Duchess  of  Mirandola."  He  backed  his  assertions  with  so  many 
broken  hints,  and  such  a  show  of  depth  and  wisdom,  that  we  gave 
ourselves  up  to  his  opinions. 

The  discourse  at  length  fell  upon  a  point  which  seldom  escapes 
a  knot  of  true-born  Englishmen,  whether,  in  case  of  a  religious 
war,  the  Protestants  would  not  be  too  strong  for  the  Papists  ?  This 
we  unanimously  determined  on  the  Protestant  side.  One  who  sat 
on  my  right-hand,  and,  as  I  found  by  his  discourse,  had  been  in 
the  West  Indies,  assured  us,  "that  it  would  be  a  very  easy  matter 
for  the  Protestants  to  beat  the  Pope  at  sea;"  and  added,  "that 
whenever  such  a  war  does  break  out,  it  must  turn  to  the  good  of 
the  Leeward  Islands."  Upon  this,  one  who  sat  at  the  end  of  the 
bench,  and  as  I  afterwards  found,  was  the  geographer  of  the  com- 
pany, said,  "that  in  case  the  Papists  should  drive  the  Protestants 
from  these  parts  of  Europe,  when  the  worst  came  to  the  worst,  it 
would  be  impossible  to  beat  them  out  of  Norway  and  Greenland, 
provided  the  Northern  crowns  hold  together,  and  the  czar  of  Mus- 
covy stand  neuter." 

He  farther  told  us,  for  our  comfort,  "  that  there  were  vast  tracks 
of  lands  about  the  pole,  inhabited  neither  by  Protestants  nor  Papists, 
and  of  greater  extent  than  all  the  Roman-Catholic  dominions  in 
Europe." 

When  we  had  fully  discussed  this  point,  my  friend  the  upholsterer 
began  to  exert  himself  upon  the  present  negotiations  of  peace;  in 
which  he  deposed  princes,  settled  the  bounds  of  kingdoms,  and 
balanced  the  power  of  Europe,  with  great  justice  and  impartiality. 

I  at  length  took  my  leave  of  the  company,  and  was  going  away; 
but  had  not  gone  thirty  yards,  before  the  upholsterer  hemmed  again 
after  me.  Upon  his  advancing  towards  me  with  a  whisper,  I  ex- 
pected to  hear  some  secret  piece  of  news,  which  he  had  not  thought 
fit  to  communicate  to  the  bench;  but,  instead  of  that,  he  desired 
me  in  my  ear  to  lend  him  half  a  crown.  In  compassion  to  so  needy 

98 


The  Politician. 


THE  TATLER 

a  statesman,  and  to  dissipate  the  confusion  I  found  he  was  in,  I 
told  him,  "if  he  pleased,  I  would  give  him  five  shillings,  to  receive 
five  pounds  of  him  when  the  great  Turk  was  driven  out  of  Con- 
stantinople;" which  he  very  readily  accepted,  but  not  before  he 
had  laid  down  to  me  the  impossibility  of  such  an  event,  as  the 
affairs  of  Europe  now  stand. 

This  paper  I  design  for  the  particular  benefit  of  those  worthy 
citizens  who  live  more  in  a  coffee-house  than  in  their  shops,  and 
whose  thoughts  are  so  taken  up  with  the  affairs  of  the  allies,  that 
they  forget  their  custom 


TOM  FOLIO 

No.  158.]    THURSDAY,  APRIL  13,  1710.    [ADDISON.] 

Faciunt  nae  intelligendo,  ut  nihil  intelligant.  —  TER. 
While  they  pretend  to  know  more  than  others,  they  know  nothing  in  reality. 

TOM  FOLIO  is  a  broker  in  learning,  employed  to  get  together 
good  editions,  and  stock  the  libraries  of  great  men.  There  is 
not  a  sale  of  books  begins  until  Tom  Folio  is  seen  at  the  door. 
There  is  not  an  auction  where  his  name  is  not  heard,  and  that  too  in 
the  very  nick  of  time,  in  the  critical  moment,  before  the  last  decisive 
stroke  of  the  hammer.  There  is  not  a  subscription  goes  forward  in 
which  Tom  is  not  privy  to  the  first  rough  draught  of  the  proposals; 
nor  a  catalogue  printed,  that  doth  not  come  to  him  wet  from  the 
press.  He  is  an  universal  scholar,  so  far  as  the  title-page  of  all 
authors;  knows  the  manuscripts  in  which  they  were  discovered, 
the  editions  through  which  they  have  passed,  with  the  praises  or 
censures  which  they  have  received  from  the  several  members  of  the 
learned  world.  He  has  a  greater  esteem  for  Aldus  and  Elzevir, 
than  for  Virgil  and  Horace.  If  you  talk  of  Heredotus,  he  breaks 
out  into  a  panegyric  upon  Harry  Stephens.  He  thinks  he  gives  you 
an  account  of  an  author,  when  he  tells  you  the  subject  he  treats  of, 
the  name  of  the  editor,  and  the  year  in  which  it  was  printed.  Or 
if  you  draw  him  into  farther  particulars,  he  cries  up  the  goodness  of 
the  paper,  extols  the  diligence  of  the  corrector,  and  is  transported 
with  the  beauty  of  the  letter.  This  he  looks  upon  to  be  sound  leam 

99 


THE   TATLER 

ing,  and  substantial  criticism.  As  for  those  who  talk  of  the  fine- 
ness of  style,  and  the  justness  of  thought  or  describe  the  brightness 
of  any  particular  passages;  nay,  though  they  themselves  write  in 
the  genius  and  spirit  of  the  author  they  admire;  Tom  looks  upon 
them  as  men  of  superficial  learning,  and  flashy  parts. 

I  had  yesterday  morning  a  visit  from  this  learned  ideot,  for  that 
is  the  light  in  which  I  consider  every  pedant,  when  I  discovered  in 
him  some  little  touches  of  the  coxcomb,  which  I  had  not  before  ob- 
served. Being  very  full  of  the  figure  which  he  makes  in  the  republic 
of  letters,  and  wonderfully  satisfied  with  his  great  stock  of  knowl- 
edge, he  gave  me  broad  intimations,  that  he  did  not  believe  in  all 
points  as  his  forefathers  had  done.  He  then  communicated  to  me 
a  thought  of  a  certain  author  upon  a  passage  of  Virgil's  account  of 
the  dead,  which  I  made  the  subject  of  a  late  paper.  This  thought 
hath  taken  very  much  among  men  of  Tom's  pitch  and  understand- 
ing, though  universally  exploded  by  all  that  know  how  to  construe 
Virgil,  or  have  any  relish  of  antiquity.  Not  to  trouble  my  reader 
with  it,  I  found,  upon  the  whole,  that  Tom  did  not  believe  a  future 
state  of  rewards  and  punishments,  because  ^Eneas,  at  his  leaving 
the  empire  of  the  dead,  passed  through  the  gate  of  ivory,  and  not 
through  that  of  horn.  Knowing  that  Tom  had  not  sense  enough 
to  give  up  an  opinion  which  he  had  once  received,  that  I  might 
avoid  wrangling,  I  told  him  "  that  Virgil  possibly  had  his  oversights 
as  well  as  another  author."  "Ah!  Mr.  Bickerstaff,"  says  he,  "you 
would  have  another  opinion  of  him,  if  you  would  read  him  in  Daniel 
Heinsius's  edition.  I  have  perused  him  myself  several  times  in  that 
edition,"  continued  he;  "and  after  the  strictest  and  most  malicious 
examination,  could  find  but  two  faults  in  him;  one  of  them  is  in  the 
^neids,  where  there  are  two  commas  instead  of  a  parenthesis ;  and 
another  in  the  third  Georgic,  where  you  may  find  a  semicolon  turned 
upside  down."  "Perhaps,"  said  I,  "these  were  not  Virgil's  faults, 
but  those  of  the  transcriber."  "  I  do  not  design  it,"  says  Tom,  "  as 
a  reflection  on  Virgil;  on  the  contrary,  I  know  that  all  the  manu- 
scripts declaim  against  such  a  punctuation.  Oh!  Mr.  Bickerstaff," 
says  he,  "  what  would  a  man  give  to  see  one  simile  of  Virgil  writ  in 
his  own  hand?"  I  asked  him  which  was  the  simile  he  meant;  but 
was  answered,  any  simile  in  Virgil.  He  then  told  me  all  the  secret 
history  in  the  commonwealth  of  learning ;  of  modern  pieces  that  had 
the  names  of  ancient  authors  annexed  to  them;  of  all  the  books  that 
were  now  writing  or  printing  in  the  several  parts  of  Europe;  of 

100 


THE  TATLER 

many  amendments  which  are  made,  and  not  yet  published,  and  a 
thousand  other  particulars,  which  I  would  not  have  my  memory 
burdened  with  for  a  Vatican. 

At  length,  being  fully  persuaded  that  I  thoroughly  admired  him, 
and  looked  upon  him  as  a  prodigy  of  learning,  he  took  his  leave.  I 
know  several  of  Tom's  class,  who  are  professed  admirers  of  Tasso, 
without  understanding  a  word  of  Italian:  and  one  in  particular, 
that  carries  a  Pastor  Fido  in  his  pocket,  in  which,  I  am  sure,  he  is 
acquainted  with  no  other  beauty  but  the  clearness  of  the  character. 

There  is  another  kind  of  pedant,  who,  with  all  Tom  Folio's  im- 
pertinences, hath  greater  superstructures  and  embellishments  of 
Greek  and  Latin;  and  is  still  more  insupportable  than  the  other, 
in  the  same  degree  as  he  is  more  learned.  Of  this  kind  very  often 
are  editors,  commentators,  interpreters,  scholiasts,  and  critics;  and, 
in  short,  all  men  of  deep  learning  without  common  sense.  These 
persons  set  a  greater  value  on  themselves  for  having  found  out  the 
meaning  of  a  passage  in  Greek,  than  upon  the  author  for  having 
written  it ;  nay,  will  allow  the  passage  itself  not  to  have  any  beauty 
in  it,  at  the  same  time  that  they  would  be  considered  as  the  greatest 
men  of  the  age,  for  having  interpreted  it.  They  will  look  with  con- 
tempt on  the  most  beautiful  poems  that  have  been  composed  by  any 
of  their  contemporaries;  but  will  lock  themselves  up  in  their  studies 
for  a  twelvemonth  together,  to  correct,  publish,  and  expound  such 
trifles  of  antiquity,  as  a  modern  author  would  be  contemned  for. 
Men  of  the  strictest  morals,  severest  lives,  and  the  gravest  profes- 
sions, will  write  volumes  upon  an  idle  sonnet,  that  is  originally  in 
Greek  or  Latin;  give  editions  of  the  most  immoral  authors;  and 
spin  out  whole  pages  upon  the  various  readings  of  a  lewd  expression. 
All  that  can  be  said  in  excuse  for  them  is,  that  their  works  suffi- 
ciently shew  they  have  no  taste  of  their  authors;  and  that  what  they 
do  in  this  kind,  is  out  of  their  great  learning,  and  not  out  of  any 
levity  or  lasciviousness  of  temper. 

A  pedant  of  this  nature  is  wonderfully  well  described  hi  six  lines 
of  Boileau,  with  which  I  shall  conclude  his  character: 

Un  Pedant  enyvre"  de  sa  vaine  science, 
Tout  herisse  de  Grec,  tout  bouffi  d'arrogance. 
Et  qui  de  mille  auteurs  retenus  mot  pour  mot, 
Dans  sa  t£te  entassez  n'a  souvent  fait  qu'un  sot, 
Croit  qu'un  livre  fait  tout,  and  que  sans  Aristote 
La  raison  ne  voit  goute,  and  le  bon  sens  radote. 

101 


THE   TATLER 

Brim-full  of  learning  see  that  pedant  stride, 
Bristling  with  horrid  Greek,  and  puff'd  with  pride! 
A  thousand  authors  he  in  vain  has  read, 
And  with  their  maxims  stuff'd  his  empty  head; 
And  thinks  that,  without  Aristotle's  rule, 
Reason  is  blind,  and  common  sense  a  fooL 


A  VISIT   AND    LETTER   FROM   THE 
UPHOLSTERER 

No.  160.]    TUESDAY,  APRIL  18,  1710.    [ADDISON.] 

A  COMMON  civility  to  an  impertinent  fellow,  often  draws  upon 
one  a  great  many  unforeseen  troubles;  and  if  one  doth  not 
take  particular  care,  will  be  interpreted  by  him  as  an  overture  of 
friendship  and  intimacy.  This  I  was  very  sensible  of  this  morning. 
About  two  hours  before  day,  I  heard  a  great  rapping  at  my  door, 
which  continued  some  time,  till  my  maid  could  get  herself  ready  to 
go  down  and  see  what  was  the  occasion  of  it.  She  then  brought 
me  up  word,  that  there  was  a  gentleman  who  seemed  very  much  in 
haste,  and  said  he  must  needs  speak  with  me.  By  the  description 
she  gave  me  of  him,  and  by  his  voice,  which  I  could  hear  as  I  lay  in 
my  bed,  I  fancied  him  to  be  my  old  acquaintance  the  upholsterer, 
whom  I  met  the  other  day  in  St.  James's  Park.  For  which  reason 
I  bid  her  tell  the  gentleman,  whoever  he  was,  that  I  was  indisposed, 
that  I  could  see  nobody,  and  that,  if  he  had  anything  to  say  to  me,  I 
desired  he  would  leave  it  in  writing.  My  maid,  after  having  de- 
livered her  message,  told  me,  that  the  gentleman  said  he  would  stay 
at  the  next  coffee-house  till  I  was  stirring,  and  bid  her  be  sure  to 
tell  me,  that  the  French  were  driven  from  the  Scarp,  and  that  the 
Douay  was  invested.  He  gave  her  the  name  of  another  town,  which 
I  found  she  had  dropped  by  the  way. 

As  much  as  I  love  to  be  informed  of  the  success  of  my  brave 
countrymen,  I  do  not  care  for  hearing  of  a  victory  before  day,  and 
was  therefore  very  much  out  of  humour  at  this  unseasonable  visit. 
I  had  no  sooner  recovered  my  temper,  and  was  falling  asleep,  but  I 
was  immediately  startled  by  a  second  rap;  and  uoon  my  maid's 

102 


THE   TATLER 

opening  the  door,  heard  the  same  voice  ask  her,  if  her  master  was 
yet  up  ?  and  at  the  same  time  bid  her  tell  me,  that  he  was  come  on 
purpose  to  talk  with  me  about  a  piece  of  home-news  that  everybody 
in  town  will  be  full  of  two  hours  hence.  I  ordered  my  maid,  as  soon 
as  she  came  into  the  room,  without  hearing  her  message,  to  tell  the 
gentleman,  that  whatever  his  news  was,  I  would  rather  hear  it 
two  hours  hence  than  now;  and  that  I  persisted  in  my  resolution 
not  to  speak  with  anybody  that  morning.  The  wench  delivered 
my  answer  presently  and  shut  the  door.  It  was  impossible  for  me 
to  compose  myself  to  sleep  after  two  such  unexpected  alarms;  for 
which  reason  I  put  on  my  clothes  in  a  very  peevish  humour.  I  took 
several  turns  about  my  chamber,  reflecting  with  a  great  deal  of  anger 
and  contempt  on  these  volunteers  in  politics,  that  undergo  all  the 
pain,  watchfulness,  and  disquiet  of  a  first  minister,  without  turning 
it  to  the  advantage  either  of  themselves  or  their  country;  and  yet  it 
is  surprising  to  consider  how  numerous  this  species  of  men  is. 
There  is  nothing  more  frequent  than  to  find  a  tailor  breaking  his 
rest  on  the  affairs  of  Europe,  and  to  see  a  cluster  of  porters  sitting 
upon  the  ministry.  Our  streets  swarm  with  politicians,  and  there 
is  scarce  a  shop  which  is  not  held  by  a  statesman.  As  I  was  musing 
after  this  manner,  I  heard  the  upholsterer  at  the  door  delivering  a 
letter  to  my  maid,  and  begging  her,  in  very  great  hurry,  to  give  it 
to  her  master  as  soon  as  ever  he  was  awake,  which  I  opened  and 
found  as  follows: 

"  MR.  BICKERSTAFFE,  —  I  was  to  wait  upon  you  about  a  week 
ago,  to  let  you  know,  that  the  honest  gentleman  whom  you  con- 
versed with  upon  the  bench  at  the  end  of  the  Mall,  having  heard  that 
I  had  received  five  shillings  of  you,  to  give  you  a  hundred  pounds 
upon  the  Great  Turk's  being  driven  out  of  Europe,  desired  me 
to  acquiant  you,  that  every  one  of  that  company  would  be  willing 
to  receive  five  shillings,  to  pay  a  hundred  pounds  on  the  same  condi- 
tions. Our  last  advices  from  Muscovy  making  this  a  fairer  bet  than 
it  was  a  week  ago,  I  do  not  question  but  you  will  accept  the  wager. 

"  But  this  is  not  my  present  business.  If  you  remember,  I  whis- 
pered a  word  in  your  ear  as  we  were  walking  up  the  Mall,  and  you 
see  what  has  happened  since.  If  I  had  seen  you  this  morning, 
I  would  have  told  you  in  your  ear  another  secret.  I  hope  you  will 
be  recovered  of  your  indisposition  by  to-morrow  morning,  when 
I  will  wait  on  you  at  the  same  hour  as  I  did  this;  my  private  cir- 

103 


THE   TATLER 

cumstances  being  such,  that  I  cannot  well  appear  in  this  quarter 
of  the  town  after  it  is  day. 

"  I  have  been  so  taken  up  with  the  late  good  news  from  Holland, 
and  expectation  of  further  particulars,  as  well  as  with  other  trans- 
actions, of  which  I  will  tell  you  more  to-morrow  morning,  that  I 
have  not  slept  a  wink  these  three  nights. 

"I  have  reason  to  believe,  that  Picardy  will  soon  follow  the 
example  of  Artois,  in  case  the  enemy  continue  in  their  present  reso- 
lution of  flying  away  from  us.  I  think  I  told  you  last  time  we  were 
together  my  opinion  about  the  Deulle. 

"The  honest  gentlemen  upon  the  bench  bid  me  tell  you,  they 
would  be  glad  to  see  you  often  among  them.  We  shall  be  there 
all  the  warm  hours  of  the  day  during  the  present  posture  of  affairs. 

"  This  happy  opening  of  the  campaign  will,  I  hope,  give  us  a  very 
joyful  summer;  and  I  propose  to  take  many  a  pleasant  walk  with 
you,  if  you  will  sometimes  come  into  the  Park;  for  that  is  the  only 
place  in  which  I  can  be  free  from  the  malice  of  my  enemies.  Fare- 
well till  three-a-clock  to-morrow  morning, 
"lam 

Your  most  humble  servant,"  &c. 

"P.S.  The  king  of  Sweden  is  still  at  Bender." 

I  should  have  fretted  myself  to  death  at  this  promise  of  a  second 
visit,  if  I  had  not  found  in  his  letter  an  intimation  of  the  good  news 
which  I  have  since  heard  at  large.  I  have,  however,  ordered  my 
maid  to  tie  up  the  knocker  of  my  door,  in  such  a  manner  as  she 
would  do  if  I  was  really  indisposed.  By  which  means  I  hope  to 
escape  breaking  my  morning's  rest. 


THE   CRITIC 

No.  165.]    SATURDAY,  APRIL  29,  1710.    [ADDISON.] 

IT  has    always    been   my  endeavour  to  distinguish    between 
realities  and  appearances,  and  separate  true  merit  from  the 
pretence  to  it.     As  it  shall  ever  be  my  study  to  make  discoveries 
of  this  nature  in  human  life,  and  to  settle  the  proper  distinctions 

104 


THE   TATLER 

between  the  virtues  and  perfections  of  mankind,  and  those  false 
colours  and  resemblances  of  them  that  shine  alike  in  the  eyes  of 
the  vulgar ;  so  I  shall  be  more  particularly  careful  to  search  into  the 
various  merits  and  pretences  of  the  learned  world.  This  is  the 
more  necessary,  because  there  seems  to  be  a  general  combination 
among  the  pedants  to  extol  one  another's  labours,  and  cry  up  one 
another's  parts;  while  men  of  sense,  either  through  that  modesty 
which  is  natural  to  them,  or  the  scorn  they  have  for  such  trifling 
commendations,  enjoy  their  stock  of  knowledge  like  a  hidden  trea- 
sure, with  satisfaction  and  silence.  Pedantry,  indeed,  in  learning, 
is  like  hypocrisy  in  religion,  a  form  of  knowledge  without  the  power 
of  it,  that  attracts  the  eyes  of  common  people,  breaks  out  in  noise 
and  show,  and  finds  its  reward,  not  from  any  inward  pleasure  that 
attends  it,  but  from  the  praises  and  approbations  which  it  receives 
from  men. 

Of  this  shallow  species  there  is  not  a  more  importunate,  empty, 
and  conceited  animal,  than  that  which  is  generally  known  by  the 
name  of  a  critic.  This,  in  the  common  acceptation  of  the  word, 
is  one  that,  without  entering  into  the  sense  and  soul  of  an  author, 
has  a  few  general  rules,  which,  like  mechanical  instruments,  he 
applies  to  the  works  of  every  writer,  and  as  they  quadrate  with 
them,  pronounces  the  author  perfect  or  defective.  He  is  master 
of  a  certain  set  of  words,  as  Unity,  Style,  Fire,  Phlegm,  Easy, 
Natural,  Turn,  Sentiment,  and  the  like;  which  he  varies,  com- 
pounds, divides,  and  throws  together,  in  every  part  of  his  discourse, 
without  any  thought  or  meaning.  The  marks  you  may  know  him 
by  are,  an  elevated  eye,  and  dogmatical  brow,  a  positive  voice,  and 
a  contempt  for  everything  that  comes  out,  whether  he  has  read  it 
or  not.  He  dwells  altogether  in  generals.  He  praises  or  dis- 
praises in  the  lump.  He.  shakes  his  head  very  frequently  at  the 
pedantry  of  universities,  and  bursts  into  laughter  when  you  men- 
tion an  author  that  is  known  at  Will's.  He  hath  formed  his  judg- 
ment upon  Homer,  Horace,  and  Virgil,  not  from  then-  own  works, 
but  from  those  of  Rapin  and  Bossu.  He  knows  his  own  strength 
so  well,  that  he  never  dares  praise  anything  in  which  he  has  not  a 
French  author  for  his  voucher. 

With  these  extraordinary  talents  and  accomplishments,  Sir 
Timothy  Tittle  puts  men  in  vogue,  or  condemns  them  to  obscurity, 
and  sits  as  judge  of  life  and  death  upon  every  author  that  appears 
in  public.  It  is  impossible  to  represent  the  pangs,  agonies,  and  con- 


THE   TATLER 

vulsions,  which  Sir  Timothy  expresses  in  every  feature  of  his  face, 
and  muscle  of  his  body,  upon  the  reading  of  a  bad  poet. 

About  a  week  ago  I  w.as  engaged  at  a  friend's  house  of  mine  in 
an  agreeable  conversation  with  his  wife  and  daughters,  when, 
in  the  height  of  our  mirth,  Sir  Timothy,  who  makes  love  to  my 
friend's  eldest  daughter,  came  in  amongst  us  puffing  and  blowing, 
as  if  he  had  been  very  much  out  of  breath.     He  immediately  called 
for  a  chair,  and  desired  leave  to  sit  down,  without  any  further 
ceremony.     I  asked  him,  "  Where  he  had  been  ?    Whether  he  was 
out  of  order?"     He  only  replied,  that  he  was  quite  spent,  and  fell 
a  cursing  in  soliloquy.     I  could  hear  him  cry,  "A  wicked  rogue!  — 
An  execrable  wretch!  —  Was  there  ever  such  a  monster!"    -The 
young    ladies    upon  this    began    to    be    affrighted,    and    asked, 
<; Whether  any  one  had  hurt  him?"     He  answered  nothing,  but 
still  talked  to  himself.     "To  lay  the  first  scene  (says  he)  in  St. 
James's  Park,  and  the  last  in  Northamptonshire!"     "Is  that  all? 
(says  I:)     Then  I  suppose  you  have  been  at  the  rehearsal  of  the 
play  this  morning."     "Been!  (says  he;)  I  have  been  at  Northamp- 
ton, in  the  Park,  in  a  lady's  bed-chamber,  in  a  dining-room,  every- 
where; the  rogue  has  led  me  such  a  dance!"  —  Though  I  could 
scarce  forbear  laughing  at  his  discourse,  I  told  him  I  was  glad  it 
was  no  worse,  and  that  he  was  only  metaphorically  weary.     "In 
short,  sir,  (says  he,)  the  author  has  not  observed  a  single  unity  in  his 
whole  play;  the  scene  shifts  in  every  dialogue;  the  villain  has 
hurried  me  up  and  down  at  such  a  rate,  that  I  am  tired  off  my  legs. 
I  could  not  but  observe  with  some  pleasure,  that  the  young  lady  whom 
he  made  love  to,  conceived  a  very  just  aversion  towards  him,  upon 
seeing  him  so  very  passionate  in  trifles.     And  as  she  had  that 
natural  sense  which  makes  her  a  better  judge  than  a  thousand 
critics,  she  began  to  rally  him  upon  this  foolish  humour.     "  For  my 
part,  (says  she,)  I  never  knew  a  play  take  that  was  written  up  to 
your  rules,  as  you  call  them."     "How,  madam!  (says  he,)  is  that 
your  opinion  ?  I  am  sure  you  have  a  better  taste."     "  It  is  a  pretty 
kind  of  magic  (says  she)  the  poets  have  to  transport  an  audience 
from  place  to  place  without  the  help  of  a  coach  and  horses.     I 
could  travel  round  the  world  at  such  a  rate.     'Tis  such  an  enter- 
tainment as  an  enchantress  finds  when  she  fancies  herself  in  a  wood, 
or  upon  a  mountain,  at  a  feast,  or  a  solemnity;  though  at  the  same 
time  she  has  never  stirred  out  of  her  cottage."     "Your  simile, 
madam,  (says  Sir  Timothy,)  is  by  no  means  just."     "  Pray,  (says 

1 06 


THE   TATLER 

she,)  let  my  similes  pass  without  a  criticism.  I  must  confess, 
(continued  she,  for  I  found  she  was  resolved  to  exasperate  him,) 
I  laughed  very  heartily  at  the  last  new  comedy  which  you  found  so 
much  fault  with."  "But,  madam,  (says  he,)  you  ought  not  to 
have  laughed ;  and  I  defy  any  one  to  show  me  a  single  rule  that  you 
could  laugh  by."  "Ought  not  to  laugh!  (says  she:)  Pray  who 
should  hinder  me?"  "Madam,  (says  he,)  there  are  such  people 
in  the  world  as  Rapin,  Dacier,  and  several  others,  that  ought  to 
have  spoiled  your  mirth."  "  I  have  heard,  (says  the  young  lady,) 
that  your  great  critics  are  always  very  bad  poets :  I  fancy  there  is  as 
much  difference  between  the  works  of  one  and  the  other,  as  there 
is  between  the  carriage  of  a  dancing-master  and  a  gentleman.  I 
must  confess,  (continued  she,)  I  would  not  be  troubled  with  so  fine 
a  judgment  as  yours  is;  for  I  find  you  feel  more  vexation  in  a  bad 
comedy,  than  I  do  in  a  deep  tragedy."  "  Madam,  (says  Sir  Tim- 
othy,) that  is  not  my  fault;  they  should  learn  the  art  of  writing." 
"For  my  part,  (says  the  young  lady,)  I  should  think  the  greatest 
art  in  your  writers  of  comedies  is  to  please."  "To  please!"  (says 
Sir  Timothy;)  and  immediately  fell  a  laughing.  "Truly,  (says 
she,)  that  is  my  opinion."  Upon  this,  he  composed  his  counte- 
nance, looked  upon  his  watch,  and  took  his  leave. 

I  hear  that  Sir  Timothy  has  not  been  at  my  friend's  house  since 
this  notable  conference,  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  young  lady,  who 
by  this  means  has  got  rid  of  a  very  impertinent  fop. 

I  must  confess,  I  could  not  but  observe,  with  a  great  deal  of  sur- 
prise, how  this  gentleman,  by  his  ill-nature,  folly,  and  affectation, 
hath  made  himself  capable  of  suffering  so  many  imaginary  pains, 
and  looking  with  such  a  senseless  severity  upon  the  common  diver- 
sions of  life. 


107 


THE   TATLER 

CHARACTERS   IN   A   STAGE-COACH 
No.  192.]    SATURDAY,  JULY  i,  1710.    [ADDISON.] 

Tecum  vivere  amem,tecum  obeam  libens.  —  HOR. 

SOME  years  since  I  was  engaged  with  a  coach  full  of  friends 
to  take  a  journey  as  far  as  the  Land's  End.  We  were  very 
well  pleased  with  one  another  the  first  day,  every  one  endeavouring 
to  recommend  himself  by  his  good  humour  and  complaisance  to 
the  rest  of  the  company.  This  good  correspondence  did  not  last 
long;  one  of  our  party  was  soured  the  very  first  evening  by  a  plate 
of  butter  which  had  not  been  melted  to  his  mind,  and  which  spoiled 
his  temper  to  such  a  degree,  that  he  continued  upon  the  fret  to  the 
end  of  our  journey.  A  second  fell  off  from  his  good  humour  the 
next  morning,  for  no  other  reason  that  I  could  imagine,  but  because 
I  chanced  to  step  into  the  coach  before  him,  and  place  myself  on 
the  shady  side.  This,  however,  was  but  my  own  private  guess,  for 
he  did  not  mention  a  word  of  it,  nor  indeed  of  anything  else,  for 
three  days  following.  The  rest  of  our  company  held  out  very  near 
half  the  way,  when  of  a  sudden  Mr.  Sprightly  fell  asleep;  and 
instead  of  endeavouring  to  divert  and  oblige  us,  as  he  had  hitherto 
done,  carried  himself  with  an  unconcerned,  careless,  drowsy  be- 
haviour, till  we  came  to  our  last  stage.  There  were  three  of  us 
who  still  held  up  our  heads,  and  did  all  we  could  to  make  our 
journey  agreeable;  but,  to  my  shame  be  it  spoken,  about  three 
miles  on  this  side  Exeter  I  was  taken  with  an  unaccountable  fit  of 
sullenness,  that  hung  upon  me  for  above  threescore  miles;  whether 
it  were  for  want  of  respect,  or  from  an  accidental  tread  upon  my 
foot,  or  from  a  foolish  maid's  calling  me  The  old  Gentleman,  I 
cannot  tell.  In  short,  there  was  but  one  who  kept  his  good  humor 
to  the  Land's  End. 

There  was  another  coach  that  went  along  with  us,  in  which  I 
likewise  observed,  that  there  were  many  secret  jealousies,  heart- 
burnings, and  animosities:  for  when  we  joined  companies  at  night, 
I  could  not  but  take  notice,  that  the  passengers  neglected  their  own 
company,  and  studied  how  to  make  themselves  esteemed  by  us, 
who  were  altogether  strangers  to  them:  till  at  length  they  grew  so 
well  acquainted  with  us,  that  they  liked  us  as  little  as  they  did  one 
another.  When  I  reflect  upon  this  journey,  I  often  fancy  it  to  be  a 

108 


THE   TATLER 

picture  of  human  life,  in  respect  to  the  several  friendships,  con- 
tracts, and  alliances  that  are  made  and  dissolved  in  the  several 
periods  of  it.  The  most  delightful  and  most  lasting  engagements 
are  generally  those  which  pass  between  man  and  woman;  and  yet 
upon  what  trifles  are  they  weakened,  or  entirely  broken!  Some- 
times the  parties  fly  asunder  even  in  the  midst  of  courtship,  and 
sometimes  grow  cool  in  the  very  honey-month.  Some  separate 
before  the  first  child,  and  some  after  the  fifth;  others  continue  good 
till  thirty,  others  till  forty;  while  some  few,  whose  souls  are  of  an 
happier  make,  and  better  fitted  to  one  another,  travel  on  together 
to  the  end  of  their  journey,  in  a  continual  intercourse  of  kind  offices 
and  mutual  endearments. 

When  we,  therefore,  choose  our  companions  for  life,  if  we  hope 
to  keep  both  them  and  ourselves  in  good  humour  to  the  last  stage 
of  it,  we  must  be  extremely  careful  in  the  choice  we  make,  as  well 
as  in  the  conduct  on  our  own  part.  When  the  persons  to  whom  we 
join  ourselves  can  stand  an  examination,  and  bear  the  scrutiny,  when 
they  mend  upon  our  acquaintance  with  them,  and  discover  new 
beauties  the  more  we  search  into  their  characters,  our  love  will 
naturally  rise  in  proportion  to  their  perfections. 

But  because  there  are  very  few  possessed  of  such  accomplish- 
ments of  body  and  mind,  we  ought  to  look  after  those  qualifications 
both  in  ourselves  and  others,  which  are  indispensably  necessary 
towards  this  happy  union,  and  which  are  in  the  power  of  every  one 
to  acquire,  or  at  least  to  cultivate  and  improve.  These,  in  my 
opinion,  are  cheerfulness  and  constancy.  A  cheerful  temper, 
joined  with  innocence,  will  make  beauty  attractive,  knowledge 
delightful,  and  wit  good-natured.  It  will  lighten  sickness,  poverty, 
and  affliction;  convert  ignorance  into  an  amiable  simplicity,  and 
render  deformity  itself  agreeable. 

Constancy  is  natural  to  persons  of  even  tempers  and  uniform 
dispositions,  and  may  be  acquired  by  those  of  the  greatest  fickle- 
ness, violence,  and  passion,  who  consider  seriously  the  terms  of 
union  upon  which  they  are  come  together,  the  mutual  interest  in 
which  they  are  engaged,  with  all  the  motives  that  ought  to  incite 
their  tenderness  and  compassion  towards  those  who  have  their 
dependence  upon  them,  and  are  embarked  with  them  for  life  in  the 
same  state  of  happiness  or  misery.  Constancy,  when  it  grows  in 
the  mind  upon  considerations  of  this  nature,  becomes  a  moral 
virtue,  and  a  kind  of  good-nature,  that  is  not  subject  to  any  change 

109 


THE    TATLER 

of  health,  age,  fortune,  or  any  of  those  accidents  which  are  apt  to 
unsettle  the  best  dispositions  that  are  founded  rather  in  constitu- 
tion than  in  reason.  Where  such  a  constancy  as  this  is  wanting, 
the  most  inflamed  passion  may  fall  away  into  coldness  and  indif- 
ference, and  the  most  melting  tenderness  degenerate  into  hatred 
and  aversion.  I  shall  conclude  this  paper  with  a  story  that  is  very 
well  known  in  the  north  of  England. 

About  thirty  years  ago,  a  packet-boat  that  had  several  passengers 
on  board  was  cast  away  upon  a  rock,  and  in  so  great  danger  of 
sinking,  that  all  who  were  in  it  endeavoured  to  save  themselves  as 
well  as  they  could,  though  only  those  who  could  swim  well  had  a 
bare  possibility  of  doing  it.  Among  the  passengers  there  were 
two  women  of  fashion,  who  seeing  themselves  in  such  a  disconso- 
late condition,  begged  of  their  husbands  not  to  leave  them.  One 
of  them  chose  rather  to  die  with  his  wife,  than  to  forsake  her;  the 
other,  though  he  was  moved  with  utmost  compassion  for  his  wife, 
told  her,  that  for  the  good  of  their  children  it  was  better  one  of 
them  should  live,  than  both  perish.  By  a  great  piece  of  good  luck, 
next  to  a  miracle,  when  one  of  our  good  men  had  taken  the  last  and 
long  farewell  in  order  to  save  himself,  and  the  other  held  in  his  arms 
the  person  that  was  dearer  to  him  than  life,  the  ship  was  preserved. 
It  is  with  a  secret  sorrow  and  vexation  of  mind  that  I  must  tell  the 
sequel  of  the  story,  and  let  my  reader  know,  that  this  faithful  pair 
who  were  ready  to  have  died  in  each  other's  arms,  about  three 
years  after  their  escape,  upon  some  trifling  disgust,  grew  to  a  cold- 
ness at  first,  and  at  length  fell  out  to  such  a  degree,  that  they  left 
one  another,  and  parted  for  ever.  The  other  couple  lived  together 
in  an  uninterrupted  friendship  and  felicity;  and,  what  was  remark- 
able, the  husband  whom  the  shipwreck  had  like  to  have  separated 
from  his  wife,  died  a  few  months  after  her,  not  being  able  to  survive 
the  loss  of  her. 

I  must  confess,  there  is  something  in  the  changeableness  and 
inconstancy  of  human  nature,  that  very  often  both  dejects  and 
terrifies  me.  Whatever  I  am  at  present,  I  tremble  to  think  what  I 
may  be.  While  I  find  this  principle  in  me,  how  can  I  assure  myself, 
that  I  shall  be  always  true  to  my  God,  my  friend,  or  myself?  in 
short,  without  constancy  there  is  neither  love,  friendship,  or  virtue 
in  the  world. 


no 


THE   TATLER 


AMBITION 

No.  202.]    TUESDAY,  JULY  25,  1710.    [STEELE.] 

Est  hie, 

Est  Ulubris,  animus  si  te  non  deficit  aequus. 

HOR.  i  Ep.  ad. 

True  happiness  is  to  no  spot  confin'd: 
If  you  preserve  a  firm  and  equal  mind, 
'Tis  here,  'tis  there,  and  every  where. 

THIS  afternoon  I  went  to  visit  a  gentleman  of  my  acquaintance 
at  Mile-End;  and  passing  through  Stepney  church-yard,  I 
could  not  forbear  entertaining  myself  with  the  inscriptions  on  the 
tombs  and  graves.     Among  others,  I  observed  one  with  this  notable 
memorial : 

"HERE  LIES  THE  BODY  OF  T.  B." 

This  fanatical  desire,  of  being  remembered  only  by  the  two 
first  letters  of  a  name,  led  me  into  the  contemplation  of  the  vanity 
and  imperfect  attainments  of  ambition  in  general.  When  I  run 
back  in  my  imagination  all  the  men  whom  I  have  ever  known  and 
conversed  with  in  my  whole  life,  there  are  but  very  few  who  have 
not  used  their  faculties  in  the  pursuit  of  what  it  is  impossible  to 
acquire;  or  left  the  possession  of  what  they  might  have  been,  at 
their  setting  out,  masters,  to  search  for  it  where  it  was  out  of  their 
reach.  In  this  thought  it  was  not  possible  to  forget  the  instance 
of  Pyrrhus,  who  proposing  to  himself  in  discourse  with  a  philosopher, 
one,  and  another,  and  another  conquest,  was  asked,  what  he  would 
after  all  that?  "Then,"  says  the  king,  "we  will  make  merry." 
He  was  well  answered,  "  What  hinders  you  doing  that  in  the  condi- 
tion you  are  already?"  The  restless  desire  of  exerting  themselves 
above  the  common  level  of  mankind  is  not  to  be  resisted  in  some 
tempers ;  and  minds  of  this  make  may  be  observed  in  every  condition 
of  life.  Where  such  men  do  not  make  to  themselves,  or  meet  with 
employment,  the  soil  of  their  constitution  runs  into  tares  and  weeds. 
An  old  friend  of  mine,  who  lost  a  major's  post  forty  years  ago,  and 
quitted,  has  ever  since  studied  maps,  encampments,  retreats,  and 
counter-marches;  with  no  other  design  but  to  feed  his  spleen  and 
ill-humour,  and  furnish  himself  with  matter  for  arguing  against  all 
the  successful  actions  of  others.  He  that,  at  his  first  setting  out  in 

in 


THE   TATLER 

the  world,  was  the  gayest  man  in  our  regiment;  ventured  his  life 
with  alacrity,  and  enjoyed  it  with  satisfaction ;  encouraged  men  be- 
low him,  and  was  courted  by  men  above  him,  has  been  ever  since 
the  most  froward  creature  breathing.  His  warm  complexion  spends 
itself  now  only  in  a  general  spirit  of  contradiction ;  for  which  he 
watches  all  occasions,  and  is  in  his  conversation  still  upon  centry, 
treats  all  men  like  enemies,  with  every  other  impertinence  of  a 
speculative  warrior. 

He,  that  observes  in  himself  this  natural  inquietude,  should  take 
all  imaginable  care  to  put  his  mind  in  some  method  of  gratification ; 
or  he  will  soon  find  himself  grow  into  the  condition  of  this  disap- 
pointed major.  Instead  of  courting  proper  occasions  to  rise  above 
others,  he  will  be  ever  studious  of  pulling  others  down  to  him:  it 
being  the  common  refuge  of  disappointed  ambition,  to  ease  them- 
selves by  detraction.  It  would  be  no  great  argument  against 
ambition,  that  there  are  such  mortal  things  in  the  disappointment 
of  it;  but  it  certainly  is  a  forcible  exception,  that  there  can  be  no 
solid  happiness  in  the  success  of  it.  If  we  value  popular  praise,  it 
is  in  the  power  of  the  meanest  of  the  people  to  disturb  us  by  calumny. 
If  the  fame  of  being  happy,  we  cannot  look  into  a  village,  but  we 
see  crowds  in  actual  possession  of  what  we  seek  only  the  appearance. 
To  this  may  be  added,  that  there  is  I  know  not  what  malignity  in 
the  minds  of  ordinary  men,  to  oppose  you  in  what  they  see  you 
fond  of;  and  it  is  a  certain  exception  against  a  man's  receiving 
applause,  that  he  visibly  courts  it.  However,  this  is  not  only  the 
passion  of  great  and  undertaking  spirits;  but  you  see  it  in  the  lives  of 
such  as,  one  would  believe,  were  far  enough  removed  from  the  ways 
of  ambition.  The  rural  esquires  of  this  nation  even  eat  and  drink 
out  of  vanity.  A  vain-glorious  fox-hunter  shall  entertain  half  a 
county,  for  the  ostentation  of  his  beef  and  beer,  without  the  least 
affection  for  any  of  the  crowd  about  him.  He  feeds  them,  because 
he  thinks  it  a  superiority  over  them  that  he  does  so;  and  they  devour 
him,  because  they  know  he  treats  them  out  of  insolence.  This 
indeed  is  ambition  in  grotesque ;  but  may  figure  to  us  the  condition 
of  politer  men,  whose  only  pursuit  is  glory.  When  the  superior 
acts  out  of  a  principle  of  vanity,  the  dependent  will  be  sure  to  allow 
it  him;  because  he  knows  it  destructive  of  the  very  applause  which 
is  courted  by  the  man  who  favours  him,  and  consequently  makes 
him  nearer  himself. 

But  as  every  man  living  has  more  or  less  of  this  incentive,  which 

112 


THE   TATLER 

makes  men  impatient  of  an  inactive  condition,  and  urges  men  to 
attempt  what  may  tend  to  their  reputation;  it  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary they  should  form  to  themselves  an  ambition,  which  is  in  every 
man's  power  to  gratify.  This  ambition  would  be  independent, 
and  would  consist  only  in  acting  what,  to  a  man's  own  mind, 
appears  most  great  and  laudable.  It  is  a  pursuit  in  the  power  of 
every  man,  and  is  only  a  regular  prosecution  of  what  he  himself 
approves.  It  is  what  can  be  interrupted  by  no  outward  accidents; 
for  no  man  can  be  robbed  of  his  good  intention.  One  of  our  society 
of  the  Trumpet  therefore  started  last  night  a  notion,  which  I 
thought  had  reason  in  it.  "It  is,  methinks,"  said  he,  "an  un- 
reasonable thing,  that  honest  virtue  should,  as  it  seems  to  be  at 
present,  be  confined  to  a  certain  order  of  men,  and  be  attainable 
by  none  but  those  whom  fortune  has  elevated  to  the  most  conspicu- 
ous stations.  I  would  have  everything  to  be  esteemed  as  heroic, 
which  is  great  and  uncommon  in  the  circumstances  of  the  man  who 
performs  it."  Thus  there  would  be  no  virtue  in  human  life,  which 
every  one  of  the  species  would  not  have  a  pretence  to  arrive  at,  and 
an  ardency  to  exert.  Since  fortune  is  not  in  our  power,  let  us  be  as 
little  as  possible  in  hers.  Why  should  it  be  necessary  that  a  man 
should  be  rich,  to  be  generous?  If  we  measured  by  the  quality 
and  not  the  quantity  of  things,  the  particulars  which  accompany 
an  action  is  what  should  denominate  it  mean  or  great.  The  high- 
est station  of  human  life  is  to  be  attained  by  each  man  that  pretends 
to  it:  for  any  man  can  be  as  valiant,  as  generous,  as  wise,  and  as 
merciful,  as  the  faculties  and  opportunities  which  he  has  from 
heaven  and  fortune  will  permit.  He  that  can  say  to  himself,  "  I  do 
as  much  good,  and  am  as  virtuous  as  my  most  earnest  endeavours 
will  allow  me,"  whatever  is  his  station  in  the  world,  is  to  himself 
possessed  of  the  highest  honour.  If  ambition  is  not  thus  turned,  it 
is  no  other  than  a  continual  succession  of  anxiety  and  vexation. 
But  when  it  has  this  cast,  it  invigorates  the  mind ;  and  the  conscious- 
ness of  its  own  worth  is  a  reward,  which  is  not  in  the  power  of  envy, 
reproach,  or  detraction,  to  take  from  it.  Thus  the  seat  of  solid 
honour  is  in  a  man's  own  bosom:  and  no  one  can  want  support  who 
is  in  possession  of  an  honest  conscience,  but  he  who  would  suffer 
the  reproaches  of  it  for  other  greatness. 


THE   TATLER 

FLATTERY   AS  AN   ART 

No.  208.]    TUESDAY,  AUGUST  8,  1710.    [STEELE.] 

Si  dixeris  aestuo,  sudat. Juv.  Sat.  iii.  103. 

If  you  complain  of  heat, 

They  rub  th"  unsweating  brow,  and  swear  they  sweat. 

AN  old  acquaintance,  who  met  me  this  morning,  seemed  over- 
joyed to  see  me,  and  told  me  I  looked  as  well  as  he  had  known 
me  do  these  forty  years;  "but,"  continued  he,  "not  quite  the  man 
you  were,  when  we  visited  together  at  lady  Brightly's.  Oh!  Isaac, 
those  days  are  over.  Do  you  think  there  are  any  such  fine  crea- 
tures now  living,  as  we  then  conversed  with  ?  "  He  went  on  with  a 
thousand  incoherent  circumstances,  which,  in  his  imagination, 
must  needs  please  me;  but  they  had  the  quite  contrary  effect.  The 
flattery  with  which  he  began,  in  telling  me  how  well  I  wore,  was 
not  disagreeable;  but  his  indiscreet  mention  of  a  set  of  acquaintance 
we  had  outlived,  recalled  ten  thousand  things  to  my  memory,  which 
made  me  reflect  upon  my  present  condition  with  regret.  Had  he 
indeed  been  so  kind  as,  after  a  long  absence,  to  felicitate  me  upon 
an  indolent  and  easy  old  age;  and  mentioned  how  much  he  and  I 
had  to  thank  for,  who  at  our  time  of  day  could  walk  firmly,  eat 
heartily,  and  converse  cheerfully,  he  had  kept  up  my  pleasure  in 
myself.  But  of  all  mankind,  there  are  none  so  shocking  as  these  in- 
judicious civil  people.  They  ordinarily  begin  upon  something, 
that  they  know  must  be  a  satisfaction ;  but  then,  for  fear  of  the  im- 
putation of  flattery,  they  follow  it  with  the  last  thing  in  the  world  of 
which  you  would  be  reminded.  It  is  this  that  perplexes  civil  per- 
sons. The  reason  that  there  is  such  a  general  outcry  among  us 
against  flatterers  is,  that  there  are  so  very  few  good  ones.  It  is  the 
nicest  art  in  this  life,  and  is  a  part  of  eloquence  which  does  not  want 
the  preparation  that  is  necessary  to  ah1  other  parts  of  it,  that  your 
audience  should  be  your  well-wishers:  for  praise  from  an  enemy  is 
the  most  pleasing  of  all  commendations. 

It  is  generally  to  be  observed,  that  the  person  most  agreeable  to  a 
man  for  a  constancy  is  he  that  has  no  shining  qualities,  but  is  a  cer- 
tain degree  above  great  imperfections ;  whom  he  can  live  with  as  his 
inferior,  and  who  will  either  overlook,  or  not  observe  his  little  de- 

114 


THE    TATLER 

fects.  Such  an  easy  companion  as  this  either  now  and  then  throws 
out  a  little  flattery,  or  lets  a  man  silently  flatter  himself  in  his  supe- 
riority to  him.  If  you  take  notice,  there  is  hardly  a  rich  man  in  the 
world,  who  has  not  such  a  led  friend  of  small  consideration,  who  is  a 
darling  for  his  insignificancy.  It  is  a  great  ease  to  have  one  in  our 
own  shape  a  species  below  us,  and  who,  without  being  lifted  in  our 
service,  is  by  nature  of  our  retinue.  These  dependents  are  of  ex- 
cellent use  on  a  rainy  day,  or  when  a  man  has  not  a  mind  to  dress; 
or  to  exclude  solitude,  when  one  has  neither  a  mind  to  that  or  to 
company.  There  are  of  this  good-natured  order,  who  are  so  kind 
as  to  divide  themselves,  and  do  these  good  offices  to  many.  Five 
or  six  of  them  visit  a  whole  quarter  of  the  town,  and  exclude  the 
spleen,  without  fees,  from  the  families  they  frequent.  If  they  do 
not  prescribe  physic,  they  can  be  company  when  you  take  it.  Very 
great  benefactors  to  the  rich,  or  those  whom  they  call  people  at 
their  ease,  are  your  persons  of  no  consequence.  I  have  known 
some  of  them,  by  the  help  of  a  little  cunning,  make  delicious  flatter- 
ers. They  know  the  course  of  the  town,  and  the  general  characters 
of  persons:  by  this  means  they  will  sometimes  tell  the  most  agree- 
able  falsehoods  imaginable.  They  will  acquaint  you,  that  such  a 
one  of  a  quite  contrary  party  said,  "  That  though  you  were  engaged 
in  different  interests,  yet  he  had  the  greatest  respect  for  your  good 
sense  and  address."  When  one  of  these  has  a  little  cunning,  he 
passes  his  time  in  the  utmost  satisfaction  to  himself  and  his  friends : 
for  his  position,  is  never  to  report  or  speak  a  displeasing  thing  to  his 
friend.  As  for  letting  him  go  on  in  an  error,  he  knows,  advice 
against  them  is  the  office  of  persons  of  greater  talents  and  less  dis- 
cretion. 

The  Latin  word  for  a  flatterer,  assentator,  implies  no  more  than  a 
person  that  barely  consents;  and  indeed  such  a  one,  if  a  man  were 
able  to  purchase  or  maintain  him,  cannot  be  bought  too  dear.  Such 
a  one  never  contradicts  you;  but  gains  upon  you,  not  by  a  fulsome 
way  of  commending  you  in  broad  terms,  but  liking  whatever  you 
propose  or  utter;  at  the  same  time,  is  ready  to  beg  your  pardon, 
and  gainsay  you,  if  you  chance  to  speak  ill  of  yourself.  An  old 
lady  is  very  seldom  without  such  a  companion  as  this,  who  can  re- 
cite the  names  of  all  her  lovers,  and  the  matches  refused  by  her  in 
the  days  when  she  minded  such  vanities,  as  she  is  pleased  to  call 
them,  though  she  so  much  approves  the  mention  of  them.  It  is  to 
be  noted,  that  a  woman's  flatterer  is  generally  elder  than  herself; 


THE   TATLER 

her  years  serving  at  once  to  recommend  her  patroness's  age,  and  to 
add  weight  to  her  complaisance  in  all  other  particulars. 

We  gentlemen  of  small  fortunes  are  extremely  necessitous  in  this 
particular.  I  have  indeed  one  who  smokes  with  me  often ;  but  his 
parts  are  so  low,  that  all  the  incense  he  does  me  is  to  fill  his  pipe  with 
me,  and  to  be  out  at  just  as  many  whiffs  as  I  take.  This  is  all  the 
praise  or  assent  that  he  is  capable  of;  yet  there  are  more  hours  when 
I  would  rather  be  in  his  company,  than  in  that  of  the  brightest  man 
I  know.  It  would  be  an  hard  matter  to  give  an  account  of  this  in- 
clination to  be  flattered ;  but  if  we  go  to  the  bottom  of  it,  we  shall 
find,  that  the  pleasure  in  it  is  something  like  that  of  receiving  money 
which  lay  out.  Every  man  thinks  he  has  an  estate  of  reputation, 
and  is  glad  to  see  one  that  will  bring  any  of  it  home  to  him.  It  is  no 
matter  how  dirty  a  bag  it  is  conveyed  to  him  in,  or  by  how  clownish  a 
messenger,  so  the  money  be  good.  All  that  we  want,  to  be  pleased 
with  flattery,  is  to  believe  that  the  man  is  sincere  who  gives  it  us. 
It  is  by  this  one  accident,  that  absurd  creatures  often  out-run  the 
most  skilful  in  this  art.  Their  want  of  ability  is  here  an  advantage; 
and  their  bluntness,  as  it  is  the  seeming  effect  of  sincerity,  is  the  best 
cover  to  artifice. 

Terence  introduces  a  flatterer  talking  to  a  coxcomb,  whom  he 
cheats  out  of  a  livelihood ;  and  a  third  person  on  the  stage  makes  on 
him  this  pleasant  remark,  "  This  fellow  has  an  art  of  making  fools 
madmen."  The  love  of  flattery  is,  indeed,  sometimes  the  weakness 
of  a  great  mind ;  but  you  see  it  also  in  persons,  who  otherwise  dis- 
cover no  manner  of  relish  of  any  thing  above  mere  sensuality. 
These  latter  it  sometimes  improves;  but  always  debases  the  former. 
A  fool  is  in  himself  the  object  of  pity,  until  he  is  flattered.  By  the 
force  of  that,  his  stupidity  is  raised  into  affectation,  and  he  becomes 
of  dignity  enough  to  be  ridiculous.  I  remember  a  droll,  that  upon 
one's  saying,  "  The  times  are  so  ticklish,  that  there  must  great  care 
be  taken  what  one  says  in  conversation";  answered  with  an  ah-  of 
surliness  and  honesty,  "  If  people  will  be  free,  let  them  be  so  in  the 
manner  that  I  am,  who  never  abuse  a  man  but  to  his  face."  He 
had  no  reputation  for  saying  dangerous  truths;  therefore  when  it 
was  repeated,  "You  abuse  a  man  but  to  his  face?"  "Yes,"  says 
he,  "  I  flatter  him." 

It  is  indeed  the  greatest  of  injuries  to  flatter  any  but  the  unhappy, 
or  such  as  are  displeased  with  themselves  for  some  infirmity.  In 
this  latter  case  we  have  a  member  of  our  club,  who,  when  Sir  Jeffery 

116 


THE   TATLER 

falls  asleep,  wakens  him  with  snoring.  This  makes  Sir  Jeffery  hold 
up  for  some  moments  the  longer  to  see  there  are  men  younger  than 
himself  among  us,  who  are  more  lethargic  than  he  is. 

When  flattery  is  practised  upon  any  other  consideration,  it  is  the 
most  abject  thing  in  nature;  nay,  I  cannot  think  of  any  character 
below  the  flatterer,  except  he  that  envies  him.  You  meet  with  fel- 
lows, prepared  to  be  as  mean  as  possible  in  their  condescensions  and 
expressions;  but  they  want  persons  and  talents  to  rise  up  to  such  a 
baseness.  As  a  coxcomb  is  a  fool  of  parts,  so  is  a  flatterer  a  knave 
of  parts. 

The  best  of  this  order,  that  I  know,  is  one  who  disguises  it  under 
a  spirit  of  contradiction  or  reproof.  He  told  an  arrant  driveller 
the  other  day,  that  he  did  not  care  for  being  in  company  with  him, 
because  he  heard  he  turned  his  absent  friends  into  ridicule.  And 
upon  lady  Autumn's  disputing  with  him  about  something  that 
happened  at  the  Revolution,  he  replied  with  a  very  angry  tone, 
"  Pray,  madam,  give  me  leave  to  know  more  of  a  thing  in  which  I 
was  actually  concerned,  than  you  who  were  then  in  your  nurse's 
arms." 


ON   ADVERTISEMENTS 

No.  224.     THURSDAY,  SEPTEMBER  14,  1710.    [ADDISON.] 

Materiam  superabat  opus. OVID.  Met.  ii.  5. 

The  matter  equall'd  not  the  artist's  skill. 

IT  is  my  custom,  in  a  dearth  of  news,  to  entertain  myself  with 
those  collections  of  advertisements  that  appear  at  the  end  of 
all  our  public  prints.  These  I  consider  as  accounts  of  news  from 
the  little  world,  in  the  same  manner  that  the  foregoing  parts  of  the 
paper  are  from  the  great.  If  in  one  we  hear  that  a  sovereign  prince 
is  fled  from  this  capital  city,  in  the  other  we  hear  of  a  tradesman 
who  hath  shut  up  his  shop,  and  run  away.  If  in  one  we  find  the 
victory  of  a  general,  in  the  other  we  see  the  desertion  of  a  private 
soldier.  I  must  confess  I  have  a  certain  weakness  in  my  temper, 
that  is  often  very  much  affected  by  these  little  domestic  occurrences, 

117 


THE   TATLER 

and  have  frequently  been  caught  with  tears  in  my  eyes  over  a  mel- 
ancholy advertisement. 

But  to  consider  this  subject  in  its  most  ridiculous  lights,  advertise- 
ments are  of  great  use  to  the  vulgar.  First  of  all,  as  they  are  instru- 
ments of  ambition.  A  man  that  is  by  no  means  big  enough  for  the 
Gazette,  may  easily  creep  into  the  advertisements;  by  which  means 
we  often  see  an  apothecary  in  the  same  paper  of  news  with  a  pleni- 
potentiary, or  a  running-foot-man  with  an  ambassador.  An  ad- 
vertisement from  Piccadilly  goes  down  to  posterity  with  an  article 
from  Madrid,  and  John  Bartlett  of  Goodman's-fields  is  celebrated 
in  the  same  paper  with  the  emperor  of  Germany.  Thus  the  fable 
tells  us,  that  the  wren  mounted  as  high  as  the  eagle,  by  getting  upon 
bis  back. 

A  second  use  which  this  sort  of  writings  hath  been  turned  to  of 
late  years,  has  been  the  management  of  controversy ;  insomuch  that 
above  half  the  advertisements  one  meets  with  now-a-days  are  purely 
polemical.  The  inventors  of  "Strops  for  razors"  have  written 
against  one  another  this  way  for  several  years,  and  that  with  great 
bitterness;  as  the  whole  argument  pro  and  con  in  the  case  of  "the 
morning  gown"  is  still  carried  on  after  the  same  manner.  I  need 
not  mention  the  several  proprietors  of  Dr.  Anderson's  pills;  nor 
take  notice  of  the  many  satirical  works  of  this  nature  so  frequently 
published  by  Dr.  Clark,  who  has  had  the  confidence  to  advertise 
upon  that  learned  knight,  my  very  worthy  friend,  Sir  William  Read : 
but  I  shall  not  interpose  in  their  quarrel :  Sir  William  can  give  him 
his  own  in  advertisements,  that,  in  the  judgment  of  the  impartial, 
are  as  well  penned  as  the  doctor's. 

The  third  and  last  use  of  these  writings  is  to  inform  the  world, 
where  they  may  be  furnished  with  almost  every  thing  that  is  neces- 
sary for  life.  If  a  man  has  pains  in  his  head,  colics  in  his  bowels, 
or  spots  in  his  cloaths,  he  may  here  meet  with  proper  cures  and 
remedies.  If  a  man  would  recover  a  wife  or  a  horse  that  is  stolen 
or  strayed;  if  he  wants  new  sermons,  electuaries,  asses'  milk,  or 
anything  else,  either  for  his  body  or  his  mind;  this  is  the  place  to 
look  for  them  in. 

The  great  art  in  writing  advertisements,  is  the  finding  out  a 
proper  method  to  catch  the  reader's  eye,  without  which  a  good 
thing  may  pass  over  unobserved,  or  be  lost  among  commissions  of 
bankrupts.  Asterisks  and  hands  were  formerly  of  great  use  for 
this  purpose.  Of  late  years  the  N.  B.  has  been  much  in  fashion, 

118 


THE   TATLER 

as  also  little  cuts  and  figures,  the  invention  of  which  we  must  ascribe 
to  the  author  of  spring-trusses.  I  must  not  here  omit  the  blind 
Italian  character,  which,  being  scarce  legible,  always  fixes  and 
detains  the  eye,  and  gives  the  curious  reader  something  like  the 
satisfaction  of  prying  into  a  secret. 

But  the  great  skill  in  an  advertiser  is  chiefly  seen  in  the  style 
which  he  makes  use  of.  He  is  to  mention  "the  universal  esteem, 
or  general  reputation,"  of  things  that  were  never  heard  of.  If  he 
is  a  physician  or  astrologer,  he  must  change  his  lodgings  frequently ; 
and,  though  he  never  saw  any  body  in  them  besides  his  own  family, 
give  public  notice  of  it,  "for  the  information  of  the  nobility  and 
gentry."  Since  I  am  thus  usefully  employed  in  writing  criticisms 
on  the  works  of  these  diminutive  authors,  I  must  not  pass  over  in 
silence  an  advertisement,  which  has  lately  made  its  appearance, 
and  is  written  altogether  in  a  Ciceronian  manner.  It  was  sent  to 
me,  with  five  shillings,  to  be  inserted  among  my  advertisements; 
but  as  it  is  a  pattern  of  good  writing  in  this  way,  I  shall  give  it  a 
place  in  the  body  of  my  paper. 

"The  highest  compounded  spirit  of  lavender,  the  most  glorious, 
if  the  expression  may  be  used,  enlivening  scent  and  flavour  that  can 
possibly  be,  which  so  raptures  the  spirits,  delights  the  gust,  and 
gives  such  airs  to  the  countenance,  as  are  not  to  be  imagined  but 
by  those  that  have  tried  it.  The  meanest  sort  of  the  thing  is 
admired  by  most  gentlemen  and  ladies;  but  this  far  more,  as  by 
far  it  exceeds  it,  to  the  gaming  among  all  a  more  than  common 
esteem.  It  is  sold,  in  neat  flint  bottles  fit  for  the  pocket,  only  at 
the  golden  Key  in  Wharton's  court,  near  Holbourn-bars,  for  three 
shillings  and  six-pence,  with  directions." 

At  the  same  time  that  I  recommend  the  several  flowers  in  which 
this  spirit  of  lavender  is  wrapped  up,  if  the  expression  may  be  used, 
I  cannot  excuse  my  fellow-labourers  for  admitting  into  their  papers 
several  uncleanly  advertisements,  not  at  all  proper  to  appear  in  the 
works  of  polite  writers.  Among  these  I  must  reckon  the  "  Carmina- 
tive Wind-expelling  Pills."  If  the  doctor  had  called  them  only 
his  Carminative  Pills,  he  had  been  as  cleanly  as  one  could  have 
wished;  but  the  second  word  entirely  destroys  the  decency  of  the 
first.  There  are  other  absurdities  of  this  nature  so  very  gross, 
that  I  dare  not  mention  them;  and  shall  therefore  dismiss  this 
subject  with  a  public  admonition  to  Michael  Parrot,  That  he  do 
not  presume  any  more  to  mention  a  certain  worm  he  knows  of, 

119 


THE   TATLER 

which,  by  the  way,  has  grown  seven  feet  in  my  memory;  for,  if  I  am 
not  much  mistaken,  it  is  the  same  that  was  but  nine  feet  long  about 
six  months  ago. 

By  the  remarks  I  have  here  made,  it  plainly  appears  that  a  collec- 
tion of  advertisements  is  a  kind  of  miscellany;  the  writers  of  which, 
contrary  to  all  authors,  except  men  of  quality,  give  money  to  the 
booksellers  who  publish  their  copies.  The  genius  of  the  bookseller 
is  chiefly  shewn  in  his  method  of  ranging  and  digesting  these  little 
tracts.  The  last  paper  I  took  up  in  my  hand  places  them  in  the 
following  order:  — 

The  true  Spanish  blacking  for  shoes,  &c. 

The  beautifying  cream  for  the  face,  &c. 

.Pease  and  plaisters,  &c. 

Nectar  and  Ambrosia,  &c. 

Four  freehold  tenements  of  fifteen  pounds  per  annum,  &c. 

Annotations  upon  the  Tatler,   &c. 

The  present  state  of  England,   &c. 

A  commission  of  bankruptcy  being  awarded  against  B.  L.,  book- 
seller, &c. 


ADVENTURES   OF   A   SHILLING 

No.  249.]    SATURDAY,  NOVEMBER  n,  1710.     [ADDISON.] 

Per  varies  casus,  per  tot  discrimina  rerum, 

Tendimus. VIRG. 

I  WAS  last  night  visited  by  a  friend  of  mine,  who  has  an  inex- 
haustible fund  of  discourse,  and  never  fails  to  entertain  his 
company  with  a  variety  of  thoughts  and  hints  that  are  altogether 
new  and  uncommon.  Whether  it  were  hi  complaisance  to  my  way 
of  living,  or  his  real  opinion,  he  advanced  the  following  paradox, 
"That  it  required  much  greater  talents  to  fill  up  and  become  a 
retired  life,  than  a  life  of  business."  Upon  this  occasion  he  rallied 
very  agreeably  the  busy  men  of  the  age,  who  only  valued  themselves 
for  being  in  motion,  and  passing  through  a  series  of  trifling  and 
insignificant  actions.  In  the  heat  of  his  discourse,  seeing  a  piece  of 
money  lying  on  my  table,  I  defy  (says  he)  any  of  these  active  persons 
to  produce  half  the  adventures  that  this  twelvepenny  piece  has 

1 20 


THE   TATLER 

been  engaged  in,  were  it  possible  for  him  to  give  us  an  account  of 
his  life." 

My  friend's  talk  made  so  odd  an  impression  upon  my  mind,  that 
soon  after  I  was  a-bed  I  fell  insensibly  into  a  most  unaccountable 
reverie,  that  had  neither  moral  nor  design  in  it,  and  cannot  be  so 
properly  called  a  dream  as  a  delirium. 

Methoughts  the  shilling  that  lay  upon  the  table  reared  itself  upon 
its  edge,  and  turning  the  face  towards  me,  opened  its  mouth,  and  in 
a  soft  silver  sound,  gave  me  the  following  account  of  his  life  and 
adventures: 

"I  was  born  (says  he)  on  the  side  of  a  mountain,  near  a  little 
village  of  Peru,  and  made  a  voyage  to  England  in  an  ingot,  under 
the  convoy  of  Sir  Francis  Drake.  I  was,  soon  after  my  arrival, 
taken  out  of  my  Indian  habit,  refined,  naturalized,  and  put  into  the 
British  mode,  with  the  face  of  Queen  Elizabeth  on  one  side,  and  the 
arms  of  the  country  on  the  other.  Being  thus  equipped,  I  found 
in  me  a  wonderful  inclination  to  ramble,  and  visit  all  parts  of  the 
new  world  into  which  I  was  brought.  The  people  very  much 
favoured  my  natural  disposition,  and  shifted  me  so  fast  from  hand 
to  hand,  that  before  I  was  five  years  old,  I  had  travelled  into  almost 
every  corner  of  the  nation.  But  in  the  beginning  of  my  sixth  year,  to 
my  unspeakable  grief,  I  fell  into  the  hands  of  a  miserable  old  fellow, 
who  clapped  me  into  an  iron  chest,  where  I  found  five  hundred 
more  of  my  own  quality  who  lay  under  the  same  confinement.  The 
only  relief  we  had,  was  to  be  taken  out  and  counted  over  in  the 
fresh  ah-  every  morning  and  evening.  After  an  imprisonment  of 
several  years,  we  heard  somebody  knocking  at  our  chest,  and 
breaking  it  open  with  a  hammer.  This  we  found  was  the  old 
man's  heir,  who,  as  his  father  lay  a  dying,  was  so  good  as  to  come 
to  our  release :  he  separated  us  that  very  day.  What  was  the  fate 
of  my  companions  I  know  not:  as  for  myself,  I  was  sent  to  the 
apothecary's  shop  for  a  pint  of  sack.  The  apothecary  gave  me  to 
an  herb-woman,  the  herb-woman  to  a  butcher,  the  butcher  to  a 
brewer,  and  the  brewer  to  his  wife,  who  made  a  present  of  me  to  a 
nonconformist  preacher.  After  this  manner  I  made  my  way  merrily 
through  the  world ;  for,  as  I  told  you  before,  we  shillings  love  nothing 
so  much  as  travelling.  I  sometimes  fetched  hi  a  shoulder  of  mutton, 
sometimes  a  play-book,  and  often  had  the  satisfaction  to  treat  a 
Templar  at  a  twelvepenny  ordinary,  or  carry  him,  with  three  friends, 
to  Westminster  HaU. 

121 


THE   TATLER 

"In  the  midst  of  this  pleasant  progress  which  I  made  from  place 
to  place,  I  was  arrested  by  a  superstitious  old  woman,  who  shut  me 
up  in  a  greasy  purse,  in  pursuance  of  a  foolish  saying,  'That  while 
she  kept  a  Queen  Elizabeth's  shilling  about  her,  she  should  never 
be  without  money.'  I  continued  here  a  close  prisoner  for  many 
months,  till  at  last  I  was  exchanged  for  eight  and  forty  farthings. 

"  I  thus  rambled  from  pocket  to  pocket  till  the  beginning  of  the 
civil  wars,  when,  to  my  shame  be  it  spoken,  I  was  employed  in 
raising  soldiers  against  the  king:  for  being  of  a  very  tempting 
breadth,  a  sergeant  made  use  of  me  to  inveigle  country  fellows,  and 
list  them  in  the  service  of  the  parliament. 

"As  soon  as  he  had  made  one  man  sure,  his  way  was  to  oblige 
him  to  take  a  shilling  of  a  more  homely  figure,  and  then  practise 
the  same  trick  upon  another.  Thus  I  continued  doing  great  mis- 
chief to  the  crown,  till  my  officer,  chancing  one  morning  to  walk 
abroad  earlier  than  ordinary,  sacrificed  me  to  his  pleasures,  and 
made  use  of  me  to  seduce  a  milk-maid.  This  wench  bent  me,  and 
gave  me  to  her  sweetheart,  applying  more  properly  than  she  in- 
tended the  usual  form  of,  'To  my  love  and  from  my  love.'  This 
ungenerous  gallant  marrying  her  within  a  few  days  after,  pawned 
me  for  a  dram  of  brandy,  and  drinking  me  out  next  day,  I  was 
beaten  flat  with  a  hammer,  and  again  set  a  running. 

"After  many  adventures,  which  it  would  be  tedious  to  relate,  I 
was  sent  to  a  young  spendthrift,  in  company  with  the  will  of  his 
deceased  father.  The  young  fellow,  who  I  found  was  very  extrava- 
gant, gave  great  demonstrations  of  joy  at  the  receiving  of  the  will; 
but  opening  it,  he  found  himself  disinherited  and  cut  off  from  the 
possession  of  a  fair  estate  by  virtue  of  my  being  made  a  present  to 
him.  This  put  him  into  such  a  passion,  that  after  having  taken 
me  in  his  hand,  and  cursed  me,  he  squirred  me  away  from  him  as 
far  as  he  could  fling  me.  I  chanced  to  light  in  an  unfrequented 
place  under  a  dead  wall,  where  I  lay  undiscovered  and  useless, 
during  the  usurpation  of  Oliver  Cromwell. 

"About  a  year  after  the  king's  return,  a  poor  cavalier  that  was 
walking  there  about  dinner-time,  fortunately  cast  his  eye  upon  me, 
and,  to  the  great  joy  of  us  both,  carried  me  to  a  cook's  shop,  where 
he  dined  upon  me,  and  drank  the  king's  health.  When  I  came 
again  into  the  world,  I  found  that  I  had  been  happier  in  my  retire- 
ment than  I  thought,  having  probably,  by  that  means,  escaped 
wearing  a  monstrous  pair  of  breeches. 

122 


THE   TATLER 

"Being  now  of  great  credit  and  antiquity,  I  was  rather  looked 
upon  as  a  medal  than  an  ordinary  coin ;  for  which  reason  a  gamester 
laid  hold  of  me,  and  converted  me  to  a  counter,  having  got  together 
some  dozens  of  us  for  that  use.  We  led  a  melancholy  life  in  his 
possession,  being  busy  at  those  hours  wherein  current  coin  is  at 
rest,  and  partaking  the  fate  of  our  master,  being  in  a  few  moments 
valued  at  a  crown,  a  pound,  or  a  sixpence,  according  to  the  situa- 
tion in  which  the  fortune  of  the  cards  placed  us.  I  had  at  length 
the  good  luck  to  see  my  master  break,  by  which  means  I  was  again 
sent  abroad  under  my  primitive  denomination  of  a  shilling. 

"I  shall  pass  over  many  other  accidents  of  less  moment,  and 
hasten  to  that  fatal  catastrophe,  when  I  fell  into  the  hands  of  an 
artist,  who  conveyed  me  under  ground,  and  with  an  unmerciful 
pair  of  shears,  cut  off  my  titles,  clipped  my  brims,  retrenched  my 
shape,  rubbed  me  to  my  inmost  ring,  and,  in  short,  so  spoiled  and 
pillaged  me,  that  he  did  not  leave  me  worth  a  groat.  You  may 
think  what  a  confusion  I  was  in,  to  see  myself  thus  curtailed  and 
disfigured.  I  should  have  been  ashamed  to  have  shown  my  head, 
had  not  all  my  old  acquaintance  been  reduced  to  the  same  shameful 
figure,  excepting  some  few  that  were  punched  through  the  belly. 
In  the  midst  of  this  general  calamity,  when  everybody  thought 
our  misfortune  irretrievable,  and  our  case  desperate,  we  were 
thrown  into  the  furnace  together,  and  (as  it  often  happens  with 
cities  rising  out  of  a  fire)  appeared  with  greater  beauty  and  lustre 
than  we  could  ever  boast  of  before.  What  has  happened  to  me 
since  this  change  of  sex  which  you  now  see,  I  shall  take  some  other 
opportunity  to  relate.  In  the  mean  time,  I  shall  only  repeat  two 
adventures,  as  being  very  extraordinary,  and  neither  of  them  having 
ever  happened  to  me  above  once  in  my  life.  The  first  was,  my 
being  in  a  poet's  pocket,  who  was  so  taken  with  the  brightness  and 
novelty  of  my  appearance,  that  it  gave  occasion  to  the  finest  bur- 
lesque poem  in  the  British  language,  entitled  from  me, '  The  Splen- 
did Shilling.'  The  second  adventure,  which  I  must  not  omit, 
happened  to  me  in  the  year  1703,  when  I  was  given  away  in  charity 
to  a  blind  man;  but  indeed  this  was  by  a  mistake,  the  person  who 
gave  me  having  heedlessly  thrown  me  into  the  hat  among  a  penny- 
worth of  farthings." 


123 


THE   TATLER 

FROZEN    WORDS 

No.  254.]    THURSDAY,  NOVEMBER  23,  1710.    [ADDISON.] 

Splendidfe  mendax .  HOR.  2  Od.  iii.  35. 

Gloriously  false . 

THERE  are  no  books  which  I  more  delight  in  than  in  travels, 
especially  those  that  describe  remote  countries,  and  give  the 
writer  an  opportunity  of  shewing  his  parts  without  incurring  any 
danger  of  being  examined  or  contradicted.  Among  all  the  authors 
of  this  kind,  our  renowned  countryman,  Sir  John  Mandevile  has 
distinguished  himself,  by  the  copiousness  of  his  invention,  and  the 
greatness  of  his  genius.  The  second  to  Sir  John  I  take  to  have 
been,  Ferdinand  Mendez  Pinto,  a  person  of  infinite  adventure, 
and  unbounded  imagination.  One  reads  the  voyages  of  these 
two  great  wits,  with  as  much  astonishment  as  the  travels  of  Ulysses 
in  Homer,  or  of  the  Red-Cross  Knight  in  Spenser.  All  is  enchanted 
ground,  and  fairy-land. 

I  have  got  into  my  hands,  by  great  chance,  several  manuscripts 
of  these  two  eminent  authors,  which  are  filled  with  greater  wonders 
than  any  of  those  they  have  communicated  to  the  public;  and  indeed, 
were  they  not  so  well  attested,  they  would  appear  altogether  improb- 
able. I  am  apt  to  think  the  ingenious  authors  did  not  publish 
them  with  the  rest  of  their  works,  lest  they  should  pass  for  fictions 
and  fables:  a  caution  not  unnecessary,  when  the  reputation  of  their 
veracity  was  not  yet  established  in  the  world.  But  as  this  reason 
has  now  no  farther  weight,  I  shall  make  the  publick  a  present  of 
these  curious  pieces,  at  such  times  as  I  shall  find  myself  unpro- 
vided with  other  subjects. 

The  present  paper  I  intend  to  fill  with  an  extract  from  Sir  John's 
Journal,  in  which  that  learned  and  worthy  knight  gives  an  account 
of  the  freezing  and  thawing  of  several  short  speeches,  which  he 
made  in  the  territories  of  Nova  Zembla.  I  need  not  inform  my 
reader,  that  the  author  of  Hudibras  alludes  to  this  strange  quality 
in  that  cold  climate,  when,  speaking  of  abstracted  notions  cloathed 
in  a  visible  shape,  he  adds  that  apt  simile, 

"Like  words  congeal'd  in  northern  air." 
124 


THE   TATLER 

Not  to  keep  my  reader  any  longer  in  suspense,  the  relation  put 
into  modern  language,  is  as  follows: 

"We  were  separated  by  a  storm  in  the  latitude  of  seventy-three, 
insomuch,  that  only  the  ship  which  I  was  in,  with  a  Dutch  and 
French  vessel,  got  safe  into  a  creek  of  Nova  Zembla.  We  landed, 
in  order  to  refit  our  vessels,  and  store  ourselves  with  provisions. 
The  crew  of  each  vessel  made  themselves  a  cabin  of  turf  and  wood, 
at  some  distance  from  each  other,  to  fence  themselves  against  the 
inclemencies  of  the  weather,  which  was  severe  beyond  imagination. 
We  soon  observed,  that  in  talking  to  one  another  we  lost  several  of 
our  words,  and  could  not  hear  one  another  at  above  two  yards 
distance,  and  that  too  when  we  sat  very  near  the  fire.  After  much 
perplexity,  I  found  that  our  words  froze  in  the  air  before  they  could 
reach  the  ears  of  the  persons  to  whom  they  were  spoken.  I  was 
soon  confirmed  in  this  conjecture,  when,  upon  the  increase  of  the 
cold,  the  whole  company  grew  dumb,  or  rather  deaf;  for  every  man 
was  sensible,  as  we  afterwards  found,  that  he  spoke  as  well  as  ever; 
but  the  sounds  no  sooner  took  air  than  they  were  condensed  and 
lost.  It  was  now  a  miserable  spectacle  to  see  us  nodding  and  gaping 
at  one  another,  every  man  talking,  and  no  man  heard.  One  might 
observe  a  seaman  that  could  hail  a  ship  at  a  league's  distance, 
beckoning  with  his  hand,  straining  his  lungs,  and  tearing  his  throat; 
but  ah1  in  vain: 

' Nee  vox  nee  verba  sequuntun 

'Nor  voice,  nor  words  ensued. 

"  We  continued  here  three  weeks  in  this  dismal  plight.  At  length, 
upon  a  turn  of  wind,  the  air  about  us  began  to  thaw.  Our  cabin 
was  immediately  filled  with  a  dry  clattering  sound,  which  I  after- 
wards found  to  be  the  crackling  of  consonants  that  broke  above  our 
heads,  and  were  often  mixed  with  a  gentle  hissing,  which  I  imputed 
to  the  letter  s,  that  occurs  so  frequently  in  the  English  tongue.  I 
soon  after  felt  a  breeze  of  whispers  rushing  by  my  ear;  for  those, 
being  of  a  soft  and  gentle  substance,  immediately  liquefied  in  the 
warm  wind  that  blew  across  our  cabin.  These  were  soon  followed 
by  syllables  and  short  words,  and  at  length  by  entire  sentences,  that 
melted  sooner  or  later,  as  they  were  more  or  less  congealed ;  so  that 
we  now  heard  everything  that  had  been  spoken  during  the  whole 
three  weeks  that  we  had  been  silent,  if  I  may  use  that  expression. 
It  was  now  very  early  in  the  morning,  and  yet,  to  my  surprise,  I 

125 


THE   TATLER 

heard  somebody  say,  'Sir  John,  it  is  midnight,  and  time  for  the 
ship's  crew  to  go  to-bed.'  This  I  knew  to  be  the  pilot's  voice;  and, 
upon  recollecting  myself,  I  concluded  that  he  had  spoken  the 
words  to  me  some  days  before,  though  I  could  not  hear  them  until 
the  present  thaw.  My  reader  will  easily  imagine  how  the  whole 
crew  was  amazed  to  hear  every  man  talking,  and  see  no  man  open- 
ing his  mouth.  In  the  midst  of  this  great  surprise  we  were  all  in, 
we  heard  a  volley  of  oaths  and  curses,  lasting  for  a  long  while,  and 
uttered  in  a  very  hoarse  voice,  which  I  knew  belonged  to  the  boat- 
swain, who  was  a  very  choleric  fellow,  and  had  taken  his  opportunity 
of  cursing  and  swearing  at  me,  when  he  thought  I  could  not  hear 
him;  for  I  had  several  times  given  him  the  strappado  on  that  account, 
as  I  did  not  fail  to  repeat  it  for  these  pious  soliloquies,  when  I  got 
him  on  ship-board. 

"I  must  not  omit  the  names  of  several  beauties  in  Wapping, 
which  were  heard  every  now  and  then,  hi  the  midst  of  a  long  sigh 
that  accompanied  them;  as,  'Dear  Kate!'  'Pretty  Mrs.  Peggy!' 
'When  shall  I  see  my  Sue  again!'  This  betrayed  several  amours 
which  had  been  concealed  until  that  time,  and  furnished  us  with  a 
great  deal  of  mirth  in  our  return  to  England. 

"When  this  confusion  of  voices  was  pretty  well  over,  though  I 
was  afraid  to  offer  at  speaking,  as  fearing  I  should  not  be  heard,  I 
proposed  a  visit  to  the  Dutch  cabin,  which  lay  about  a  mile  farther 
up  in  the  country.  My  crew  were  extremely  rejoiced  to  find  they 
had  again  recovered  their  hearing;  though  every  man  uttered  his 
voice  with  the  same  apprehensions  that  I  had  done, 

' Et  timide  verba  intermissa  retentat. 

'And  try'd  his  tongue,  his  silence  softly  broke. 

"At  about  half-a-mile's  distance  from  our  cabin  we  heard  the 
groanings  of  a  bear,  which  at  first  startled  us;  but,  upon  enquiry, 
we  were  informed  by  some  of  our  company,  that  he  was  dead,  and 
now  lay  in  salt,  having  been  killed  upon  that  very  spot  about  a  fort- 
night before,  in  the  time  of  the  frost.  Not  far  from  the  same  place, 
we  were  likewise  entertained  with  some  posthumous  snarls,  and 
barkings  of  a  fox. 

"We  at  length  arrived  at  the  little  Dutch  settlement;  and,  upon 
entering  the  room,  found  it  filled  with  sighs  that  smelt  of  brandy, 
and  several  other  unsavoury  sounds,  that  were  altogether  inarticu- 
late. My  valet,  who  was  an  Irishman,  fell  into  so  great  a  rage  at 

126 


THE   TATLER 

what  he  heard,  that  he  drew  his  sword ;  but  not  knowing  where  to  lay 
the  blame,  he  put  it  up  again.  We  were  stunned  with  these  confused 
noises,  but  did  not  hear  a  single  word  until  about  half -an -hour  after; 
which  I  ascribed  to  the  harsh  and  obdurate  sounds  of  that  language, 
which  wanted  more  time  than  ours  to  melt,  and  become  audible. 

"  After  having  here  met  with  a  very  hearty  welcome,  we  went  to  the 
cabin  of  the  French,  who,  to  make  amends  for  their  three  weeks 
silence,  were  talking  and  disputing  with  greater  rapidity  and  con- 
fusion than  I  ever  heard  in  an  assembly,  even  of  that  nation.  Their 
language,  as  I  found,  upon  the  first  giving  of  the  weather,  fell 
asunder  and  dissolved.  I  was  here  convinced  of  an  error,  into 
which  I  had  before  fallen ;  for  I  fancied,  that  for  the  freezing  of  the 
sound,  it  was  necessary  for  it  to  be  wrapped  up,  and,  as  it  were,  pre- 
served in  breath;  but  I  found  my  mistake  when  I  heard  the  sound  of 
a  kit  playing  a  minuet  over  our  heads.  I  asked  the  occasion  of  it ; 
upon  which  one  of  the  company  told  me  that  it  would  play  there 
above  a  week  longer;  'for,'  says  he,  'finding  ourselves  bereft  of 
speech,  we  prevailed  upon  one  of  the  company,  who  had  his  musical 
instrument  about  him,  to  play  to  us  from  morning  to  night;  all 
which  time  was  employed  in  dancing  in  order  to  dissipate  our 
chagrin,  fir8  tuer  le  temps.'' " 

Here  Sir  John  gives  very  good  philosophical  reason,  why  the  kit 
could  not  be  heard  during  the  frost;  but,  as  they  are  something  pro- 
lix, I  pass  them  over  in  silence,  and  shall  only  observe,  that  the 
honourable  author  seems,  by  his  quotations,  to  have  been  well 
versed  in  the  antient  poets,  which  perhaps  raised  his  fancy  above 
the  ordinary  pitch  of  historians,  and  very  much  contributed  to  the 
embellishment  of  his  writings. 


LATE   HOURS 

No.    263.]    THURSDAY,    DECEMBER   14,    1710.    [STEELE.] 

Minimi  contentos  nocte  Britannos.     Juv.  Sat.  ii.  161. 
Britons  contented  with  the  shortest  night. 

AN  old  friend  of  mine  being  lately  come  to  town,  I  went  to  see  him 
on  Tuesday  last  about  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening,  with  a 
design  to  sit  with  him  an  hour  or  two,  and  talk  over  old  stories ;  but, 
upon  enquiry  after  him,  I  found  he  was  gone  to-bed.     The  next 

127 


THE   TATLER 

morning,  as  soon  as  I  was  up  and  dressed,  and  had  dispatched  a 
little  business,  I  came  again  to  my  friend's  house  about  eleven 
o'clock,  with  a  design  to  renew  my  visit ;  but,  upon  asking  for  him, 
his  servant  told  me  he  was  just  sat  down  to  dinner.  In  short,  I 
found  that  my  old-fashioned  friend  religiously  adhered  to  the 
example  of  his  forefathers,  and  observed  the  same  hours  that  had 
been  kept  in  the  family  ever  since  the  Conquest. 

It  is  very  plain,  that  the  night  was  much  longer  formerly  in  this 
island  than  it  is  at  present.  By  the  night,  I  mean  that  portion  of 
time  which  nature  has  thrown  into  darkness,  and  which  the  wisdom 
of  mankind  had  formerly  dedicated  to  rest  and  silence.  This  used 
to  begin  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and  conclude  at  six  in  the 
morning.  The  curfeu,  or  eight  o'clock  bell,  was  the  signal  through- 
out the  nation  for  putting  out  their  candles  and  going  to-bed. 

Our  grandmothers,  though  they  were  wont  to  sit  up  the  last  in 
the  family,  were  all  of  them  fast  asleep  at  the  same  hours  that  their 
daughters  are  busy  at  crimp  and  basset.  Modern  statesmen  are 
concerting  schemes,  and  engaged  in  the  depth  of  politics  at  the 
time  when  their  forefathers  were  laid  down  quietly  to  rest,  and  had 
nothing  in  their  heads  but  dreams.  As  we  have  thus  thrown  busi- 
ness and  pleasure  into  the  hours  of  rest,  and  by  that  means  made 
the  natural  night  but  half  as  long  as  it  should  be,  we  are  forced  to 
piece  it  out  with  a  great  part  of  the  morning;  so  that  near  two-thirds 
of  the  nation  lie  fast  asleep  for  several  hours  in  broad  daylight. 
This  irregularity  is  grown  so  very  fashionable  at  present,  that  there 
is  scarce  a  lady  of  quality  in  Great  Britain  that  ever  saw  the  sun 
rise.  And,  if  the  humour  increases  hi  proportion  to  what  it  has 
done  of  late  years,  it  is  not  impossible  but  our  children  may  hear 
the  bell -man  going  about  the  streets  at  nine  o'clock  hi  the  morn- 
ing, and  the  watch  making  their  rounds  until  eleven.  This  unac- 
countable disposition  in  mankind  to  continue  awake  hi  the  night, 
and  sleep  in  the  sunshine,  has  made  me  enquire,  whether  the  same 
change  of  inclination  has  happened  to  any  other  animals?  For 
this  reason,  I  desired  a  friend  of  mine  in  the  country  to  let  me  know, 
whether  the  lark  rises  as  early  as  he  did  formerly;  and  whether 
the  cock  begins  to  crow  at  his  usual  hour.  My  friend  has  answered 
me,  "that  his  poultry  are  as  regular  as  ever,  and  that  all  the  birds 
and  beasts  of  his  neighbourhood  keep  the  same  hours  that  they 
have  observed  in  the  memory  of  man;  and  the  same  which,  hi  all 
probability^  they  have  kept  for  these  five  thousand  years." 

128 


n 


THE   TATLER 

If  you  would  see  the  innovations  that  have  been  made  among 
us  in  this  particular,  you  may  only  look  into  the  hours  of  colleges, 
where  they  still  dine  at  eleven,  and  sup  at  six,  which  were  doubtless 
the  hours  of  the  whole  nation  at  the  time  when  those  places  were 
founded.  But  at  present,  the  courts  of  justice  are  scarce  opened 
in  Westminster-hall  at  the  time  when  William  Rufus  used  to  go  to 
dinner  in  it.  All  business  is  driven  forward.  The  land-marks 
of  our  fathers,  if  I  may  so  call  them,  are  removed,  and  planted 
farther  up  into  the  day;  insomuch,  that  I  am  afraid  our  clergy  will 
be  obliged,  if  they  expect  full  congregations,  not  to  look  any  more 
upon  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  as  a  canonical  hour.  In  my  own 
memory,  the  dinner  has  crept  by  degrees  from  twelve  o'clock  to 
three,  and  where  it  will  fix  nobody  knows. 

I  have  sometimes  thought  to  draw  up  a  memorial  in  the  behalf 
of  supper  against  dinner,  setting  forth,  that  the  said  dinner  has 
made  several  encroachments  upon  the  said  supper,  and  entered 
very  far  upon  his  frontiers ;  that  he  has  banished  him  out  of  several 
families,  and  in  all  has  driven  him  from  his  head  quarters,  and 
forced  him  to  make  his  retreat  into  the  hours  of  midnight:  and,  in 
short,  that  he  is  now  in  danger  of  being  entirely  confounded  and 
lost  in  a  breakfast.  Those  who  have  read  Lucian,  and  seen  the 
complaints  of  the  letter  T  against  S,  upon  account  of  many  injuries 
and  usurpations  of  the  same  nature,  will  not,  I  believe,  think  such 
a  memorial  forced  and  unnatural.  If  dinner  has  been  thus  post- 
poned, or,  if  you  please,  kept  back  from  time  to  time,  you  may  be 
sure  that  it  has  been  in  compliance  with  the  other  business  of  the 
day,  and  that  supper  has  still  observed  a  proportionable  distance. 
There  is  a  venerable  proverb,  which  we  have  all  of  us  heard  in  our 
infancy  of  "  putting  the  children  to-bed,  and  laying  the  goose  to 
the  fire."  This  was  one  of  the  jocular  sayings  of  our  forefathers, 
but  may  be  properly  used  in  the  literal  sense  at  present.  Who 
would  not  wonder  at  this  perverted  relish  of  those  who  are  reckoned 
the  most  polite  part  of  mankind,  that  prefer  sea-coals  and  candles 
to  the  sun,  and  exchange  so  many  cheerful  morning  hours,  for  the 
pleasures  of  midnight  revels  and  debauches?  If  a  man  was  cnly 
to  consult  his  health,  he  would  choose  to  live  his  whole  time,  if 
possible,  in  day-light;  and  to  retire  out  of  the  world  into  silence 
and  sleep,  while  the  raw  damps  and  unwholesome  vapours  fly 
abroad,  without  a  sun  to  disperse,  moderate,  or  controul  them. 
For  my  own  part,  I  value  an  hour  in  the  morning  as  much  as 

129 


THE   TATLER 

common  libertines  do  an  hour  at  midnight.  When  I  find  myself 
awakened  into  being,  and  perceive  my  life  renewed  within  me, 
and  at  the  same  time  see  the  whole  face  of  nature  recovered  out  of 
the  dark  uncomfortable  state  in  which  it  lay  for  several  hours,  my 
heart  overflows  with  such  secret  sentiments  of  joy  and  gratitude, 
as  are  a  kind  of  implicit  praise  to  the  great  author  of  nature.  The 
mind,  in  these  early  seasons  of  the  day,  is  so  refreshed  in  all  its 
faculties,  and  borne  up  with  such  new  supplies  of  animal  spirits, 
that  she  finds  herself  in  a  state  of  youth,  especially  when  she  is 
entertained  with  the  breath  of  flowers,  and  melody  of  birds,  the 
dews  that  hang  upon  the  plants,  and  all  those  other  sweets  of 
nature  that  are  peculiar  to  the  morning. 

It  is  impossible  for  a  man  to  have  this  relish  of  being,  this  exqui- 
site taste  of  life,  who  does  not  come  into  the  world  before  it  is  in  all 
its  noise  and  hurry;  who  loses  the  rising  of  the  sun,  the  still  hours  of 
the  day,  and,  immediately  upon  his  first  getting  up,  plunges  him- 
self into  the  ordinary  cares  or  follies  of  the  world. 


ON   LONG-WINDED   PEOPLE 

No.  264.]    DECEMBER  16,  1710.    [STEELE.] 

Favete  linguis.  Hor.  Od.  iii.  2.  2. 

Favour  your  tongues. 

BOCCALINI,  in  his  "Parnassus,"  indicts  a  laconic  writer  for 
speaking  that  in  three  words  which  he  might  have  said  in  two, 
and  sentences  him  for  his  punishment  to  read  over  all  the  works  of 
Guicciardini.  This  Guicciardini  is  so  very  prolix  and  circumstan- 
tial in  his  writings,  that  I  remember  our  countryman,  doctor  Donne, 
speaking  of  that  majestic  and  concise  manner  in  which  Moses  has 
described  the  creation  of  the  world,  adds,  "that  if  such  an  author 
as  Guicciardini  were  to  have  written  on  such  a  subject,  the  world 
itself  would  not  have  been  able  to  have  contained  the  books  that 
gave  the  history  of  its  creation." 

I  look  upon  a  tedious  talker,  or  what  is  generally  known  by  the 
name  of  a  story-teller,  to  be  much  more  insufferable  than  even  a 
prolix  writer.  An  author  may  be  tossed  out  of  your  hand,  and 

130 


THE   TATLER 

thrown  aside  when  he  grows  dull  and  tiresome;  but  such  liberties 
are  so  far  from  being  allowed  towards  your  orators  in  common 
conversation,  that  I  have  known  a  challenge  sent  a  person  for  going 
out  of  the  room  abruptly,  and  leaving  a  man  of  honour  in  the  midst 
of  a  dissertation.  This  evil  is  at  present  so  very  common  and 
epidemical,  that  there  is  scarce  a  coffee-house  in  town  that  has  not 
some  speakers  belonging  to  it,  who  utter  their  political  essays,  and 
draw  parallels  out  of  Baker's  "  Chronicle,"  to  almost  every  part  of 
her  majesty's  reign.  It  was  said  of  two  ancient  authors,  who  had 
very  different  beauties  in  their  style,  "  that  if  you  took  a  word  from 
one  of  them,  you  only  spoiled  his  eloquence ;  but  if  you  took  a  word 
from  the  other,  you  spoiled  his  sense."  I  have  often  applied  the 
first  part  of  this  criticism  to  several  of  these  coffee-house  speakers 
whom  I  have  at  present  in  my  thoughts,  though  the  character  that 
is  given  to  the  last  of  those  authors,  is  what  I  would  recommend  to 
the  imitation  of  my  loving  countrymen.  But  it  is  not  only  public 
places  of  resort,  but  private  clubs  and  conversations  over  a  bottle, 
that  are  infested  with  this  loquacious  kind  of  animal,  especially 
with  that  species  which  I  comprehend  under  the  name  of  a  story- 
teller. I  would  earnestly  desire  these  gentlemen  to  consider,  that 
no  point  of  wit  or  mirth  at  the  end  of  a  story  can  atone  for  the  half 
hour  that  has  been  lost  before  they  come  at  it.  I  would  likewise 
lay  it  home  to  their  serious  consideration,  whether  they  think  that 
every  man  in  the  company  has  not  a  right  to  speak  as  well  as  them- 
selves ?  and  whether  they  do  not  think  they  are  invading  another 
man's  property,  when  they  engross  the  time  which  should  be  divided 
equally  among  the  company  to  their  own  private  use? 

What  makes  this  evil  the  much  greater  in  conversation  is,  that 
these  humdrum  companions  seldom  endeavour  to  wind  up  their 
narrations  into  a  point  of  mirth  or  instruction,  which  might  make 
some  amends  for  the  tediousness  of  them;  but  think  they  have  a 
right  to  tell  any  thing  that  has  happened  within  their  memory. 
They  look  upon  matter  of  fact  to  be  a  sufficient  foundation  for  a 
story,  and  give  us  a  long  account  of  things,  not  because  they  are 
entertaining  or  surprising,  but  because  they  are  true. 

My  ingenious  kinsman,  Mr.  Humphrey  Wagstaff,  used  to  say, 
"  the  life  of  man  is  too  short  for  a  story-teller." 

Methusalem  might  be  half  an  hour  in  telling  what  o'clock  it  was : 
but  as  for  us  postdilu vians,  we  ought  to  do  everything  in  haste;  and 
in  our  speeches,  as  well  as  actions,  remember  that  our  time  is  short. 


THE   TATLER 

A  man  that  talks  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  together  in  company,  if  I 
meet  him  frequently,  takes  up  a  great  part  of  my  span.  A  quarter 
of  an  hour  may  be  reckoned  the  eight-and -fortieth  part  of  a  day,  a 
day  the  three  hundred  and  sixtieth  part  of  a  year,  and  a  year  the 
threescore  and  tenth  part  of  life.  By  this  moral  arithmetic,  suppos- 
ing a  man  to  be  hi  the  talking  world  one  third  part  of  the  day, 
whoever  gives  another  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  hearing,  makes  him  a 
sacrifice  of  more  than  the  four  hundred  thousandth  part  of  his 
conversable  life. 

I  would  establish  but  one  great  general  rule  to  be  observed  in  all 
conversation,  which  is  this,  "that  men  should  not  talk  to  please 
themselves,  but  those  that  hear  them."  This  would  make  them 
consider,  whether  what  they  speak  be  worth  hearing;  whether  there 
be  either  wit  or  sense  in  what  they  are  about  to  say;  and,  whether  it 
be  adapted  to  the  time  when,  the  place  where,  and  the  person  to 
whom,  it  is  spoken. 

For  the  utter  extirpation  of  these  orators  and  story-tellers,  which 
I  look  upon  as  very  great  pests  of  society,  I  have  invented  a  watch 
which  divides  the  minute  into  twelve  parts,  after  the  same  manner 
that  the  ordinary  watches  are  divided  into  hours :  and  will  endeavour 
to  get  a  patent,  which  shall  oblige  every  club  or  company  to  provide 
themselves  with  one  of  these  watches,  that  shall  lie  upon  the  table, 
as  an  hour-glass  is  often  placed  near  the  pulpit,  to  measure  out  the 
length  of  a  discourse. 

I  shall  be  willing  to  allow  a  man  one  round  of  my  watch,  that  is, 
a  whole  minute,  to  speak  in ;  but  if  he  exceeds  that  time,  it  shall  be 
lawful  for  any  of  the  company  to  look  upon  the  watch,  or  to  call 
him  down  to  order. 

Provided,  however,  that  if  any  one  can  make  it  appear  he  is 
turned  of  threescore,  he  may  take  two,  or,  if  he  pleases,  three  rounds 
of  the  watch  without  giving  offence.  Provided,  also,  that  this  rule 
be  not  construed  to  extend  to  the  fair  sex,  who  shall  still  be  at  liberty 
to  talk  by  the  ordinary  watch  that  is  now  in  use.  I  would  likewise 
earnestly  recommend  this  little  automaton,  which  may  be  easily 
carried  in  the  pocket  without  any  incumbrance,  to  all  such  as  are 
troubled  with  this  infirmity  of  speech,  that  upon  pulling  out  their 
watches,  they  may  have  frequent  occasion  to  consider  what  they 
are  doing,  and  by  that  means  cut  the  thread  of  the  story  short,  and 
hurry  to  a  conclusion.  I  shall  only  add,  that  this  watch,  with  a 
paper  of  directions  how  to  use  it,  is  sold  at  Charles  Lillie's. 

132 


THE    TATLER 

I  am  afraid  a  Tatler  will  be  thought  a  very  improper  paper  to 
censure  this  humour  of  being  talkative;  but  I  would  have  my  readers 
know  that  there  is  a  great  difference  between  tattle  and  loquacity, 
as  I  shall  show  at  large  in  a  following  lucubration;  it  being  my 
design  to  throw  away  a  candle  upon  that  subject,  in  order  to  explain 
the  whole  art  of  tattling  in  all  its  branches  and  subdivisions. 


ON   THE   ART   OF   GROWING   OLD 

No.  266.]    THURSDAY,  DECEMBER  21,   1710.    [STEELE.] 

Rideat  et  pulset  lasciva  decentiiis  aetas. 

HOR.  2  Ep.  ii.  ult. 

Let  youth,  more  decent  in  their  follies,  scoff 
The  nauseous  scene,  and  hiss  thee  reeling  off. 

IT  would  be  a  good  appendix  to  "  The  art  of  Living  and  Dying," 
if  any  one  would  write  "The  Art  of  growing  Old,"  and  teach 
men  to  resign  their  pretensions  to  the  pleasures  and  gallantries  of 
youth,  in  proportion  to  the  alteration  they  find  in  themselves  by  the 
approach  of  age  and  infirmities.  The  infirmities  of  this  stage  of 
life  would  be  much  fewer,  if  we  did  not  affect  those  which  attend  the 
more  vigorous  and  active  part  of  our  days ;  but  instead  of  studying 
to  be  wiser,  or  being  contented  with  our  present  follies,  the  ambi- 
tion of  many  of  us  is  also  to  be  the  same  sort  of  fools  we  formerly 
have  been.  I  have  often  argued,  as  I  am  a  professed  lover  of 
women,  that  our  sex  grows  old  with  a  much  worse  grace  than  the 
other  does ;  and  have  ever  been  of  opinion  that  there  are  more  well- 
pleased  old  women,  than  old  men.  I  thought  it  a  good  reason  for 
this,  that  the  ambition  of  the  fair  sex  being  confined  to  advantageous 
marriages,  or  shining  in  the  eyes  of  men,  their  parts  were  over  sooner 
and  consequently  the  errors  in  the  performance  of  them.  The 
conversation  of  this  evening  has  not  convinced  me  of  the  contrary; 
for  one  or  two  fop-women  shall  not  make  a  balance  for  the  crowds 
of  coxcombs  among  ourselves,  diversified  according  to  the  different 
pursuits  of  pleasure  and  business. 

Returning  home  this  evening  a  little  before  my  usual  hour,  I 
scarce  had  seated  myself  in  my  easy  chair,  stirred  the  fire,  and 

133 


THE   TATLER 

stroked  my  cat,  but  I  heard  somebody  come  rumbling  up  stairs.  I 
saw  my  door  opened,  and  a  human  figure  advancing  towards  me, 
so  fantastically  put  together,  that  it  was  some  minutes  before  I  dis- 
covered it  to  be  my  old  and  intimate  friend  Sam  Trusty.  Immedi- 
ately I  rose  up,  and  placed  him  in  my  own  seat;  a  compliment  I 
pay  to  few.  The  first  thing  he  uttered  was,  "  Isaac,  fetch  me  a  cup 
of  your  cherry-brandy  before  you  offer  to  ask  any  question."  He 
drank  a  lusty  draught,  sat  silent  for  some  time,  and  at  last  broke 
out;  "I  am  come,"  quoth  he,  "to  insult  thee  for  an  old  fantastic 
dotard,  as  thou  art,  in  ever  defending  the  women.  I  have  this  eve- 
ning visited  two  widows,  who  are  now  in  that  state  I  have  often 
heard  you  call  an  after-life;  I  suppose  you  mean  by  it,  an  existence 
which  grows  out  of  past  entertainments,  and  is  an  untimely  delight 
in  the  satisfactions  which  they  once  set  their  hearts  upon  too  much 
to  be  ever  able  to  relinquish.  Have  but  patience,"  continued  he, 
"  until  I  give  you  a  succinct  account  of  my  ladies,  and  of  this  night's 
adventure.  They  are  much  of  an  age,  but  very  different  in  their 
characters.  The  one  of  them,  with  all  the  advances  which  years 
have  made  upon  her,  goes  on  in  a  certain  romantic  road  of  love  and 
friendship  which  she  fell  into  in  her  teens;  the  other  has  trans- 
ferred the  amorous  passions  of  her  first  years  to  the  love  cronies, 
petts,  and  favourites,  with  which  she  is  always  surrounded ;  but  the 
genius  of  each  of  them  will  best  appear  by  the  account  of  what  hap- 
pened to  me  at  their  houses.  About  five  this  afternoon,  being  tired 
with  study,  the  weather  inviting,  and  time  lying  a  little  upon  my 
hands,  I  resolved  at  the  instigation  of  my  evil  genius,  to  visit  them ; 
their  husbands  having  been  our  contemporaries.  This  I  thought 
I  could  do  without  much  trouble;  for  both  live  in  the  very  next 
street.  I  went  first  to  my  lady  Camomile ;  and  the  butler,  who  had 
lived  long  in  the  family,  and  seen  me  often  in  his  master's  time, 
ushered  me  very  civilly  into  the  parlour,  and  told  me,  though  my 
lady  had  given  strict  orders  to  be  denied,  he  was  sure  I  might  be 
admitted,  and  bid  the  black  boy  acquaint  his  lady,  that  I  was  come 
to  wait  upon  her.  In  the  window  lay  two  letters,  one  broke  open, 
the  other  fresh  sealed  with  a  wafer:  the  first  directed  to  the  divine 
Cosmelia,  the  second  to  the  charming  Lucinda;  but  both  by  the 
indented  characters,  appeared  to  have  been  writ  by  very  unsteady 
hands.  Such  uncommon  addresses  increased  my  curiosity,  and 
put  me  upon  asking  my  old  friend  the  butler,  if  he  knew. who  those 
persons  were?  "Very  well,"  says  he,  "this  is  from  Mrs.  Furbish 

134 


THE   TATLER 

to  my  lady,  an  old  school-fellow  and  a  great  crony  of  her  ladyship's; 
and  this  the  answer."  I  enquired  in  what  country  she  lived.  "  Oh 
dear!"  says  he,  "but  just  by,  in  the  neighbourhood.  Why,  she 
was  here  all  this  morning,  and  that  letter  came  and  was  answered 
within  these  two  hours.  They  have  taken  an  odd  fancy,  you  must 
know,  to  call  one  another  hard  names;  but,  for  all  that,  they  love 
one  another  hugely."  By  this  time  the  boy  returned  with  his  lady's 
humble  service  to  me,  desiring  I  would  excuse  her;  for  she  could  not 
possibly  see  me,  nor  any  body  else,  for  it  was  opera  night." 

"Methinks,"  says  I,  "such  innocent  folly  as  two  old  women's 
courtship  to  each  other,  should  rather  make  you  merry  than  put 
you  out  of  humour."  "  Peace,  good  Isaac,"  says  he,  "  no  interrup- 
tion, I  beseech  you.  I  got  soon  to  Mrs.  Feeble's,  she  that  was  form- 
erly Betty  Frisk;  you  must  needs  remember  her;  Tom  Feeble  of 
Brazen  Nose  fell  in  love  with  her  for  her  fine  dancing.  Well,  Mrs. 
Ursula,  without  farther  ceremony,  carries  me  directly  up  to  her 
mistress's  chamber,  where  I  found  her  environed  by  four  of  the 
most  mischievous  animals  that  can  ever  infest  a  family;  an  old 
shock  dog  with  one  eye,  a  monkey  chained  to  one  side  of  the  chim- 
ney, a  great  grey  squirrel  to  the  other,  and  a  parrot  waddling  in  the 
middle  of  the  room.  However,  for  a  while,  all  was  in  a  profound 
tranquillity.  Upon  the  mantel-tree,  for  I  am  a  pretty  curious  ob- 
server, stood  a  pot  of  lambetive  electuary,  with  a  stick  of  liquorice, 
and  near  it  a  phial  of  rose-water,  and  powder  of  tutty.  Upon  the 
table  lay  a  pipe  filled  with  betony  and  colt's  foot,  a  roll  of  wax- 
candle,  a  silver  spitting-pot,  and  a  Seville  orange.  The  lady  was 
placed  in  a  large  wicker-chair,  and  her  feet  wrapped  up  in  flannel, 
supported  by  cushions;  and  in  this  attitude,  would  you  believe  it, 
Isaac,  was  she  reading  a  romance  with  spectacles  on.  The  first 
compliments  over,  as  she  was  industriously  endeavouring  to  enter 
upon  conversation,  a  violent  fit  of  coughing  seized  her.  This 
awaked  Shock,  and  in  a  trice  the  whole  room  was  in  an  uproar; 
for  the  dog  barked,  the  squirrel  squealed,  the  monkey  chattered, 
the  parrot  screamed,  and  Ursula,  to  appease  them,  was  more  clam- 
orous than  all  the  rest.  You,  Isaac,  who  know  how  any  harsh  noise 
affects  my  head,  may  guess  what  I  suffered  from  the  hideous  din  of 
these  discordant  sounds.  At  length  all  was  appeased,  and  quiet 
restored:  a  chair  was  drawn  for  me;  where  I  was  no  sooner  seated, 
but  the  parrot  fixed  his  horny  beak,  as  sharp  as  a  pair  of  sheers,  in 
one  of  my  heels,  just  above  the  shoe.  I  sprung  from  the  place  with 

135 


THE   TATLER 

an  unusual  agility,  and  so,  being  within  the  monkey's  reach,  he 
snatches  off  my  new  bob-wig,  and  throws  it  upon  two  apples  that 
were  roasting  by  a  sullen  sea-coal  fire.  I  was  nimble  enough  to 
save  it  from  any  farther  damage  than  singeing  the  foretop.  I  put  it 
on;  and  composing  myself  as  well  as  I  could,  I  drew  my  chair  to- 
wards the  other  side  of  the  chimney.  The  good  lady,  as  soon  as 
she  had  recovered  breath,  employed  it  in  making  a  thousand  apol- 
ogies, and,  with  great  eloquence,  and  numerous  train  of  words,  la- 
mented my  misfortune.  In  the  middle  of  her  harangue,  I  felt 
something  scratching  near  my  knee,  and  feeling  what  it  should  be, 
found  the  squirrel  had  got  into  my  coat-pocket.  As  I  endeavoured  to 
remove  him  from  his  burrow,  he  made  his  teeth  meet  through  the 
fleshy  part  of  my  forefinger.  This  gave  me  an  unexpressible  pain. 
The  Hungary  water  was  immediately  brought  to  bathe  it,  and 
goldbeater's  skin  applied  to  stop  the  blood.  The  lady  renewed  her 
excuses;  but  being  now  out  of  all  patience,  I  abruptly  took  my  leave, 
and  hobbling  downstairs  with  heedless  haste,  I  set  my  foot  full  in  a 
pail  of  water,  and  down  we  came  to  the  bottom  together."  Here 
my  friend  concluded  his  narrative,  and,  with  a  composed  counte- 
nance, I  began  to  make  him  compliments  of  condolence;  but  he 
started  from  his  chair,  and  said,  "Isaac,  you  may  spare  your 
speeches,  I  expect  no  reply.  When  I  told  you  this,  I  knew  you 
would  laugh  at  me;  but  the  next  woman  that  makes  me  ridiculous 
shall  be  a  young  one." 


136 


ADDISON 


ADDISON 

FROM  THACKERAY'S  "ENGLISH   HUMORISTS" 


ADDISON'S  father  was  a  clergyman  of  good  repute  in  Wiltshire, 
and  rose  in  the  church.  His  famous  son  never  lost  his  clerical 
training  and  scholastic  gravity,  and  was  called  "a  parson  in  a 
tye-wig"  in  London  afterwards  at  a  time  when  tye-wigs  were  only 
worn  by  the  laity,  and  the  fathers  of  theology  did  not  think  it  decent 
to  appear  except  in  a  full  bottom.  Having  been  as  school  at  Salis- 
bury, and  the  Charterhouse,  hi  1687,  when  he  was  fifteen  years  old, 
he  went  to  Queen's  College,  Oxford,  where  he  speedily  began  to 
distinguish  himself  by  the  making  of  Latin  verses.  The  beautiful 
and  fanciful  poem  of  "The  Pigmies  and  the  Cranes,"  is  still  read 
by  lovers  of  that  sort  of  exercise ;  and  verses  are  extant  in  honor  of 
King  William,  by  which  it  appears  that  it  was  the  loyal  youth's 
custom  to  toast  that  sovereign  in  bumpers  of  purple  Lyaeus:  many 
more  works  are  hi  the  Collection,  including  one  on  the  Peace  of 
Ryswick,  in  1697,  which  was  so  good  that  Montague  got  him  a 
pension  of  3oo/.  a  year,  on  which  Addison  set  out  on  his  travels. 

During  his  ten  years  at  Oxford,  Addison  had  deeply  imbued 
himself  with  the  Latin  poetical  literature,  and  had  these  poets  at 
his  fingers'  ends  when  he  travelled  in  Italy.  His  patron  went  out 
of  office,  and  his  pension  was  unpaid:  and  hearing  that  this  great 
scholar,  now  eminent  and  known  to  the  literati  of  Europe  (the  great 
Boileau,  upon  perusal  of  Mr.  Addison's  elegant  hexameters,  was 
first  made  aware  that  England  was  not  altogether  a  barbarous 
nation)  —  hearing  that  the  celebrated  Mr.  Addison,  of  Oxford, 
proposed  to  travel  as  governor  to  a  young  gentleman  on  the  grand 
tour,  the  great  Duke  of  Somerset  proposed  to  Mr.  Addison  to 
accompany  his  son,  Lord  Hartford. 

Mr.  Addison  was  delighted  to  be  of  use  to  his  Grace,  and  his 
lordship  his  Grace's  son,  and  expressed  himself  ready  to  set  forth. 

His  Grace  the  Duke  of  Somerset  now  announced  to  one  of  the 

139 


ADDISON 

most  famous  scholars  of  Oxford  and  Europe  that  it  was  his  gracious 
intention  to  allow  my  Lord  Hartford's  tutor  one  hundred  guineas 
per  annum.  Mr.  Addison  wrote  back  that  his  services  were  his 
Grace's,  but  he  by  no  means  found  his  account  hi  the  recompense 
for  them.  The  negotiation  was  broken  off.  They  parted  with  a 
profusion  of  congees  on  one  side  and  the  other. 

Addison  remained  abroad  for  some  time,  living  in  the  best  society 
of  Europe.  How  could  he  do  otherwise  ?  He  must  have  been  one 
of  the  finest  gentlemen  the  world  ever  saw:  at  all  moments  of  life 
serene  and  courteous,  cheerful  and  calm.  He  could  scarcely  ever 
have  had  a  degrading  thought.  He  might  have  omitted  a  virtue 
or  two,  or  many,  but  could  not  have  had  many  faults  committed 
for  which  he  need  blush  or  turn  pale.  When  warmed  into  con- 
fidence, his  conversation  appears  to  have  been  so  delightful  that 
the  greatest  wits  sat  rapt  and  charmed  to  listen  to  him.  No  man 
bore  poverty  and  narrow  fortune  with  a  more  lofty  cheerfulness. 
His  letters  to  his  friends  at  this  period  of  his  life,  when  he  had  lost 
his  Government  pension  and  given  up  his  college  chances,  are  full 
of  courage  and  a  gay  confidence  and  philosophy:  and  they  are  none 
the  worse  hi  my  eyes,  and  I  hope  not  in  those  of  his  last  and  greatest 
biographer  (though  Mr.  Macauley  is  bound  to  own  and  lament  a 
certain  weakness  for  wine,  which  the  great  and  good  Joseph  Addison 
notoriously  possessed,  in  common  with  countless  gentlemen  of  his 
timeX  because  some  of  the  letters  are  written  when  his  honest  hand 
was  shaking  a  little  in  the  morning  after  libations  to  purple  Lyaeus 
over-night.  He  was  fond  of  drinking  the  healths  of  his  friends: 
he  writes  to  Wyche,  of  Hamburg,  gratefully  remembering  Wyche's 
"  hoc."  "  I  have  been  drinking  your  health  to-day  with  Sir  Richard 
Shirley,"  he  writes  to  Bathurst.  "I  have  lately  had  the  honor  to 
meet  my  Lord  Efnngham  at  Amsterdam,  where  we  have  drunk  Mr. 
Wood's  health  a  hundred  times  in  excellent  champagne,"  he  writes 
again.  Swift  describes  him  over  his  cups,  when  Joseph  yielded  to 
a  temptation  which  Jonathan  resisted.  Joseph  was  of  a  cold 
nature,  and  needed  perhaps  the  fire  of  wine  to  warm  his  blood.  If 
he  was  a  parson,  he  wore  a  tye-wig,  recollect.  A  better  and  more 
Christian  man  scarcely  ever  breathed  than  Joseph  Addison.  If  he 
had  not  that  little  weakness  for  wine  —  why,  we  could  scarcely  have 
found  a  fault  with  him,  and  could  not  have  liked  him  as  we  do. 

At  thirty-three  years  of  age,  this  most  distinguished  wit,  scholar, 
and  gentleman  was  without  a  profession  and  an  income.  His 

140 


ADDISON 

book  of  "  Travels  "  had  failed :  his  "  Dialogues  on  Medals  "  had  no 
particular  success;  his  Latin  verses,  even  though  reported  the  best 
since  Virgil,  or  Statius  at  any  rate,  had  not  brought  him  a  Govern- 
ment place,  and  Addison  was  living  up  three  shabby  pairs  of  stairs 
in  the  Haymarket  (in  a  poverty  over  which  old  Samuel  Johnson 
rather  chuckles),  when  in  these  shabby  rooms  an  emissary  from 
Government  and  Fortune  came  and  found  him.  A  pcem  was 
wanted  about  the  Duke  of  Marlborough's  victory  of  Blenheim. 
Would  Mr.  Addison  write  one?  Mr.  Boyle,  afterwards  Lord 
Carleton,  took  back  the  reply  to  the  Lord  Treasurer  Godolphin, 
that  Mr.  Addison  would.  When  the  poem  had  reached  a  certain 
stage,  it  was  carried  to  Godolphin;  and  the  last  lines  which  he  read 
were  these:  — 

"But,  O  my  Muse!  what  numbers  wilt  thou  find 
To  sing  the  furious  troops  in  battle  join'd? 
Methinks  I  hear  the  drum's  tumultuous  sound 
The  victor's  shouts  and  dying  groans  confound; 
The  dreadful  burst  of  cannon  rend  the  skies, 
And  all  the  thunder  of  the  battle  rise.  • 
'Twas  then  great  Marlborough's  mighty  soul  was  proved, 
That,  in  the  shock  of  charging  hosts  unmoved, 
Amidst  confusion,  horror,  and  despair, 
Examined  all  the  dreadful  scenes  of  war: 
In  peaceful  thought  the  field  of  death  surveyed, 
To  fainting  squadrons  sent  the  timely  aid, 
Inspired  repulsed  battalions  to  engage, 
And  taught  the  doubtful  battle  where  to  rage. 
So  when  an  angel,  by  divine  command, 
With  rising  tempests  shakes  a  guilty  land 
(Such  as  of  late  o'er  pale  Britannia  passed), 
Calm  and  serene  he  drives  the  furious  blast; 
And,  pleased  the  Almighty's  orders  to  perform, 
Rides  in  the  whirlwind  and  directs  the  storm." 

Addison  left  off  at  a  good  moment.  That  simile  was  pronounced 
to  be  of  the  greatest  ever  produced  in  poetry.  That  angel,  that  good 
angel,  flew  off  with  Mr.  Addison,  and  landed  him  in  the  place  of 
Commissioner  of  Appeals  —  vice  Mr.  Locke  providentially  pro- 
moted. In  the  following  year  Mr.  Addison  went  to  Hanover  with 
Lord  Halifax,  and  the  year  after  was  made  Under  Secretary  of 
State.  O  angel  visits !  you  come  "  few  and  far  between  "  to  literary 
gentlemen's  lodgings!  Your  wings  seldom  quiver  at  second-floor 
windows  now! 

141 


ADDISON 

You  laugh?  You  think  it  is  in  the  power  of  few  writers  now-a- 
days  to  call  up  such  an  angel  ?  Well,  perhaps  not ;  but  permit  us  to 
comfort  ourselves  by  pointing  out  that  there  are  in  the  poem  of  the 
"Campaign"  some  as  bad  lines  as  heart  can  desire:  and  to  hint 
that  Mr.  Addison  did  very  wisely  in  not  going  further  with  my 
Lord  Godolphin  than  that  angeli  al  simile.  Do  allow  me,  just  for 
a  little  harmless  mischief ,  to  read  you  some  of  the  lines  which  follow. 
Here  is  the  interview  between  the  Duke  and  the  King  of  the  Romans 
after  the  battle:  — 

"Austria's  young  monarch,  whose  imperial  sway 
Sceptres  and  thrones  are  destined  to  obey, 
Whose  boasted  ancestry  so  high  extends 
That  in  the  Pagan  Gods  his  lineage  ends, 
Comes  from  afar,  in  gratitude  to  own 
The  great  supporter  of  his  father's  throne. 
What  tides  of  glory  to  his  bosom  ran 
Clasped  in  th'  embraces  of  the  godlike  man! 
How  were  his  eyes  with  pleasing  wonder  fixt, 
To  see  such  fire  with  so  much  sweetness  mixt! 
Such  easy  greatness,  such  a  graceful  port, 
So  turned  and  finished  for  the  camp  or  court!" 

How  many  fourth-form  boys  at  Mr.  Addison's  school  of  Charter- 
house could  write  as  well  as  that  now?  The  "Campaign"  has 
blunders,  triumphant  as  it  was;  and  weak  points  like  all  campaigns. 

In  the  year  1713  "Cato"  came  out.  Swift  has  left  a  description 
of  the  first  night  of  the  performance.  All  the  laurels  of  Europe 
were  scarcely  sufficient  for  the  author  of  this  prodigious  poem. 
Laudations  of  Whig  and  Tory  chiefs, '  popular  ovations,  compli- 
mentary garlands  from  literary  men,  translations  in  all  languages, 
delight  and  homage  from  all  —  save  from  John  Dennis  in  a  minority 
of  one.  Mr.  Addison  was  called  the  "great  Mr.  Addison"  after 
this.  The  Coffee-house  Senate  saluted  him  Divus:  it  was  heresy 
to  question  that  decree. 

Meanwhile  he  was  writing  political  papers  and  advancing  in  the 
political  profession.  He  went  Secretary  to  Ireland.  He  was 
appointed  Secretary  of  State  in  1717.  And  letters  of  his  are  extant, 
bearing  date  some  year  or  two  before,  and  written  to  young  Lord 
Warwick,  in  which  he  addresses  him  as  "my  dearest  lord,"  and 
asks  affectionately  about  his  studies,  and  writes  very  prettily  about 
nightingales  and  birds'-nests,  which  he  has  found  at  Fulham  for  his 
lordship.  Those  nightingales  were  intended  to  warble  in  the  ear 

142 


ADDISON 

of  Lord  Warwick's  mamma.  Addison  married  her  ladyship  in 
1716;  and  died  at  Holland  House  three  years  after  that  splendid 
but  dismal  union. 

But  it  is  not  for  his  reputation  as  the  great  author  of  "Cato" 
and  the  "Campaign,"  or  for  his  merits  as  Secretary  of  State,  or  for 
his  rank  and  high  distinction  as  my  Lady  Warwick's  husband,  or 
for  his  eminence  as  an  Examiner  of  political  questions  on  the  Whig 
side,  or  a  Guardian  of  British  liberties,  that  we  admire  Joseph 
Addison.  It  is  as  a  Tatler  of  small  talk  and  a  Spectator  of  mankind, 
that  we  cherish  and  love  him,  and  owe  as  much  pleasure  to  him  as 
to  any  human  being  that  ever  wrote.  He  came  in  that  artificial 
age,  and  began  to  speak  with  his  noble,  natural  voice.  He  came, 
the  gentle  satirist,  who  hit  no  unfair  blow;  the  kind  judge  who 
castigated  only  in  smiling.  While  Swift  went  about,  hanging  and 
ruthless  —  a  literary  Jeffreys  —  in  Addison 's  kind  court  only  minor 
cases  were  tried:  only  peccadilloes  and  small  sins  against  society: 
only  a  dangerous  libertinism  in  tuckers  and  hoops;  or  a  nuisance  in 
the  abuse  of  beaux'  canes  and  snuff-boxes.  It  may  be  a  lady  is 
tried  for  breaking  the  peace  of  our  sovereign  lady  Queen  Anne,  and 
ogling  too  dangerously  from  the  side-box;  or  a  Templar  for  beating 
the  watch,  or  breaking  Priscian's  head:  or  a  citizen's  wife  for  caring 
too  much  for  the  puppet-show,  and  too  little  for  her  husband  and 
children :  every  one  of  the  little  sinners  brought  before  him  is  amus- 
ing, and  he  dismisses  each  with  the  pleasantest  penalties  and  the 
most  charming  words  of  admonition. 

Addison  wrote  his  papers  as  gayly  as  if  he  was  going  out  for  a 
holiday.  When  Steele's  "Tatler"  first  began  his  prattle,  Addison, 
then  in  Ireland,  caught  at  his  friend's  notion,  poured  in  paper  after 
paper,  and  contributed  the  stores  of  his  mind,  the  sweet  fruits  of  his 
reading,  the  delightful  gleanings  of  his  daily  observation,  with  a 
wonderful  profusion,  and  as  it  seemed  an  almost  endless  fecundity. 
He  was  six-and-thirty  years  old :  full  and  ripe.  He  had  not  worked 
crop  after  crop  from  his  brain,  manuring  hastily,  subsoiling  indiffer- 
ently, cutting  and  sowing  and  cutting  again,  like  other  luckless 
cultivators  of  letters.  He  had  not  done  much  as  yet;  a  few  Latin 
poems  —  graceful  prolusions;  a  polite  book  of  travels;  a  dissertation 
on  medals,  not  very  deep;  four  acts  of  a  tragedy,  a  great  classical 
exercise;  and  the  "Campaign,"  a  large  prize  poem  that  won  an 
enormous  prize.  But  with  his  friend's  discovery  of  the  "Tatler," 
Addison's  calling  was  found,  and  the  most  delightful  talker  in  the 

143 


ADDISON 

world  began  to  speak.  He  does  not  go  very  deep :  let  gentlemen  of  a 
profound  genius,  critics  accustomed  to  the  plunge  of  the  bathos, 
console  themselves  by  thinking  that  he  couldn't  go  very  deep.  There 
are  no  traces  of  suffering  in  his  writing.  He  was  so  good,  so  honest, 
so  healthy,  so  cheerfully  selfish,  if  I  must  use  the  word.  There  is 
no  deep  sentiment.  I  doubt,  until  after  his  marriage,  perhaps, 
whether  he  ever  lost  his  night's  rest  or  his  day's  tranquillity  about 
any  woman  in  his  life;  whereas  poor  Dick  Steele  had  capacity 
enough  to  melt,  and  to  languish,  and  to  sigh,  and  to  cry  his  honest 
old  eyes  out,  for  a  dozen.  His  writings  do  not  show  insight  into  or 
reverence  for  the  love  of  women,  which  I  take  to  be,  one  the  conse- 
quence of  the  other.  He  walks  about  the  world  watching  their 
pretty  humors,  fashions,  follies,  flirtations,  rivalries;  and  noting 
them  with  the  most  charming  archness.  He  sees  them  in  public,  in 
the  theatre,  or  the  assembly,  or  the  puppet-show ;  or  at  the  toyshop 
higgling  for  gloves  and  lace;  or  at  the  auction,  battling  together  over 
a  blue  porcelain  dragon,  or  a  darling  monster  in  Japan ;  or  at  church, 
eyeing  the  width  of  their  rivals'  hoops,  or  the  breadth  of  their  laces, 
as  they  sweep  down  the  aisles.  Or  he  looks  out  of  his  window  at 
the  "Garter"  in  St.  James's  Street,  at  Ardelia's  coach,  as  she 
blazes  to  the  drawing-room  with  her  coronet  and  six  footmen ;  and 
remembering  that  her  father  was  a  Turkey  merchant  in  the  city, 
calculates  how  many  sponges  went  to  purchase  her  ear- ring,  and  how 
many  drums  of  figs  to  build  her  coach-box;  or  he  demurely  watches 
behind  a  tree  in  Spring  Garden  as  Saccharissa  (whom  he  knows 
under  her  mask)  trips  out  of  her  chair  to  the  alley  where  Sir  Fopling 
is  waiting.  He  sees  only  the  public  life  of  women.  Addison  was 
one  of  the  most  resolute  club-men  of  his  day.  He  passed  many 
hours  daily  in  those  haunts.  Besides  drinking  —  which,  alas!  is 
past  praying  for  —  you  must  know  it,  he  owned,  too,  ladies,  that  he 
indulged  in  that  odious  practice  of  smoking.  Poor  fellow !  He  was 
a  man's  man,  remember.  The  only  woman  he  did  know,  he  didn't 
write  about.  I  take  it  there  would  not  have  been  much  humor  in 
that  story. 

He  likes  to  go  and  sit  in  the  smoking-room  at  the  "Grecian," 
or  the  "  Devil " ;  to  pace  'Change  and  the  Mall  —  to  mingle  in  that 
great  club  of  the  world  —  sitting  alone  in  it  somehow :  having  good- 
will and  kindness  for  every  single  man  and  woman  in  it  —  having 
need  of  some  habit  and  custom  binding  him  to  some  few;  never 
doing  any  man  a  wrong  (unless  it  be  a  wrong  to  hint  a  little  doubt 

144 


ADDISON 

about  a  man's  parts,  and  to  damn  him  with  faint  praise);  and  so 
he  looks  on  the  world  and  plays  with  the  ceaseless  humors  of  all  of 
us  —  laughs  the  kindest  laugh  —  points  our  neighbor's  foible  or 
eccentricity  out  to  us  with  the  most  good-natured,  smiling  confidence ; 
and  then,  turning  over  his  shoulder,  whispers  our  fcibles  to  our 
neighbor.  What  would  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley  be  without  his  follies 
and  his  charming  little  brain-cracks  ?  If  the  good  knight  did  not 
call  out  to  the  people  sleeping  in  church,  and  say  "Amen"  with 
such  a  delighlful  pomposity:  if  he  did  not  make  a  speech  in  the 
assize-court  apropos  de  bottes,  and  merely  to  show  his  dignity  to 
Mr.  Spectator:  if  he  did  not  mistake  Madam  Doll  Tearsheet  for  a 
lady  of  quality  in  Temple  Garden:  if  he  were  wiser  than  he  is:  if 
he  had  not  his  humor  to  salt  his  life,  and  were  but  a  mere  English 
gentleman  and  game -preserver  —  of  what  worth  were  he  to  us? 
We  love  him  for  his  vanities  as  much  as  his  virtues.  What  is 
ridiculous  is  delightful  in  him;  we  are  so  fond  of  him  because  we 
laugh  at  him  so.  And  out  of  that  laughter,  and  out  of  that  sweet 
weakness,  and  out  of  those  harmless  eccentricities  and  follies,  and 
out  of  that  touched  brain,  and  out  of  that  honest  manhood  and 
simplicity  —  we  get  a  result  of  happiness,  goodness,  tenderness, 
pity,  piety;  such  as,  if  my  audience  will  think  their  reading  and 
hearing  over,  doctors  and  divines  but  seldom  have  the  fortune  to 
inspire.  And  why  not?  Is  the  glory  of  Heaven  to  be  sung  only 
by  gentlemen  in  black  coats  ?  Must  the  truth  be  only  expounded 
in  gown  and  surplice,  and  out  of  those  two  vestments  can  nobody 
preach  it  ?  Commend  me  to  this  dear  preacher  without  orders  — 
this  parson  in  the  tye-wig.  When  this  man  looks  from  the  world, 
whose  weaknesses  he  describes  so  benevolently,  up  to  the  Heaven 
which  shines  over  us  all,  I  can  hardly  fancy  a  human  face  lighted  up 
with  a  more  serene  rapture:  a  human  intellect  thrilling  with  a 
purer  love  and  adoration  than  Joseph  Addison's.  Listen  to  him: 
from  your  childhood  you  have  known  the  verses :  but  who  can  hear 
their  sacred  music  without  love  and  awe  ?  — 

"  Soon  as  the  evening  shades  prevail, 
The  moon  takes  up  the  wondrous  tale, 
And  nightly  to  the  listening  earth 
Repeats  the  story  of  her  birth;  , 
Whilst  all  the  stars  that  round  her  burn, 
And  all  the  planets  in  their  turn, 
Confirm  the  tidings  as  they  roll, 
And  spread  the  truth  from  pole  to  pole. 

145 


ADDISON 

What  though,  in  solemn  silence,  all 
Move  round  the  dark  terrestrial  ball; 
What  though  no  real  voice  nor  sound 
Amid  their  radiant  orbs  be  found; 
In  reason's  ear  they  all  rejoice, 
And  utter  forth  a  glorious  voice, 
For  ever  singing  as  they  shine, 
The  hand  that  made  us  is  divine." 

It  seems  to  me  those  verses  shine  like  the  stars.  They  shine 
out  of  a  great  deep  calm.  When  he  turns  to  Heaven  a  Sabbath 
comes  over  that  man's  mind :  and  his  face  lights  up  from  it  with  a 
glory  of  thanks  and  prayer.  His  sense  of  religion  stirs  through  his 
whole  being.  In  the  fields,  in  the  town:  looking  at  the  birds  in  the 
trees :  at  the  children  in  the  streets :  in  the  morning  or  in  the  moon- 
light: over  his  books  in  his  own  room:  hi  a  happy  party  at  a  country 
merry-making  or  a  town  assembly,  good-will  and  peace  to  God's 
creatures,  and  love  and  awe  of  Him  who  made  them,  fill  his  pure 
heart  and  shine  from  his  kind  face.  If  Swift's  life  was  the  most 
wretched,  I  think  Addison's  was  one  of  the  most  enviable.  A  life 
prosperous  and  beautiful  —  a  calm  death — an  immense  fame 
and  affection  afterwards  for  his  happy  and  spotless  name. 


146 


THE    SPECTATOR 


THE    SPECTATOR 


POPULAR   SUPERSTITIONS 

No.  7.]    THURSDAY,  MARCH  8,  1710-11.    [ADDISON.] 

Somnia,  terrores  magicos,  miracula,  sagas, 
Nocturnes  lemures,  portentaque  Thessala  rides? 

HOR.  2  Ep.  ii.  208. 

Visions,  and  magic  spells,  can  you  despise, 
And  laugh  at  witches,  ghosts,  and  prodigies? 

GOING  yesterday  to  dine  with  an  old  acquaintance,  I  had  the 
misfortune  to  find  his  whole  family  very  much  dejected. 
Upon  asking  him  the  occasion  of  it,  he  told  me  that  his  wife  had 
dreamt  a  very  strange  dream  the  night  before,  which  they  were 
afraid  portended  some  misfortune  to  themselves  or  to  their  children. 
At  her  coming  into  the  room,  I  observed  a  settled  melancholy  in  her 
countenance,  which  I  should  have  been  troubled  for,  had  I  not 
heard  from  whence  it  proceeded.  We  were  no  sooner  sat  down, 
but,  after  having  looked  upon  me  a  little  while,  "My  dear,"  said 
she,  turning  to  her  husband,  "you  may  now  see  the  stranger  that 
was  in  the  candle  last  night."  Soon  after  this,  as  they  began  to  talk 
of  family  affairs,  a  little  boy  at  the  lower  end  of  the  table  told  her 
that  he  was  to  go  into  join-hand  on  Thursday.  "Thursday!"  says 
she;  "no,  child;  if  it  please  God  you  shall  not  begin  upon  Childer- 
mas-day; tell  your  writing-master  that  Friday  will  be  soon  enough." 
I  was  reflecting  with  myself  on  the  oddness  of  her  fancy,  and  won- 
dering that  anybody  would  establish  it  as  a  rule,  to  lose  a  day  in  every 
week.  In  the  midst  of  these  my  musings,  she  desired  me  to  reach 
her  a  little  salt  upon  the  point  of  my  knife,  which  I  did  in  such  a 
trepidation  and  hurry  of  obedience  that  I  let  it  drop  by  the  way;  at 
which  she  immediately  startled,  and  said  it  fell  towards  her.  Upon 
this  I  looked  very  blank;  and,  observing  the  concern  of  the  whole 
table,  began  to  consider  myself,  with  some  confusion,  as  a  person 

149 


THE   SPECTATOR 

who  had  brought  a  disaster  upon  the  family.  The  lady,  however, 
recovering  herself  after  a  little  space,  said  to  her  husband  with  a 
sigh,  "My  dear,  misfortunes  never  come  single."  My  friend,  I 
found,  acted  but  an  under  part  at  his  table;  and,  being  a  man  of 
more  good-nature  than  understanding,  thinks  himself  obliged  to 
fall  in  with  all  the  passions  and  humours  of  his  yoke-fellow.  "  Do 
not  you  remember,  child,"  says  she,  "  that  the  pigeon-house  fell  the 
very  afternoon  that  our  careless  wench  spilt  the  salt  upon  the  table  ?  " 
—  "Yes,"  says  he,  "my  dear;  and  the  next  post  brought  us  an  ac- 
count of  the  battle  of  Almanza."  The  reader  may  guess  at  the 
figure  I  made  after  having  done  all  this  mischief.  I  dispatched  my 
dinner  as  soon  as  I  could  with  my  usual  taciturnity;  when,  to  my 
utter  confusion,  the  lady  seeing  me  quitting  [wiping]  my  knife  and 
fork,  and  laying  them  across  one  another  upon  my  plate,  desired 
me  that  I  would  humour  her  so  far  as  to  take  them  out  of  that  figure, 
and  place  them  side  by  side.  What  the  absurdity  was  which  I  had 
committed  I  did  not  know,  but  I  suppose  there  was  some  tradition- 
ary superstition  in  it;  and  therefore,  in  obedience  to  the  lady  of  the 
house,  I  disposed  of  my  knife  and  fork  in  two  parallel  lines,  which 
is  the  figure  I  shall  always  lay  them  in  for  the  future,  though  I  do 
not  know  any  reason  for  it. 

It  is  not  difficult  for  a  man  to  see  that  a  person  has  conceived  an 
aversion  to  him.  For  my  own  part,  I  quickly  found,  by  the  lady's 
looks,  that  she  regarded  me  as  a  very  odd  kind  of  fellow,  with  an 
unfortunate  aspect:  for  which  reason  I  took  my  leave  immediately 
after  dinner,  and  withdrew  to  my  own  lodgings.  Upon  my  return 
home,  I  fell  into  a  profound  contemplation  on  the  evils  that  attend 
these  superstitious  follies  of  mankind ;  how  they  subject  us  to  imagi- 
nary afflictions,  and  additional  sorrows,  that  do  not  properly  come 
within  our  lot.  As  if  the  natural  calamities  of  life  were  not  suffi- 
cient for  it,  we  turn  the  most  indifferent  circumstances  into  misfor- 
tunes, and  suffer  as  much  from  trifling  accidents  as  from  real  evils. 
I  have  known  the  shooting  of  a  star  spoil  a  night's  rest;  and  have 
seen  a  man  in  love  grow  pale,  and  lose  his  appetite,  upon  the  pluck- 
ing of  a  merry-thought.  A  screech-owl  at  midnight  has  alarmed  a 
family  more  than  a  band  of  robbers;  nay,  the  voice  of  a  cricket  hath 
struck  more  terror  than  the  roaring  of  a  lion.  There  is  nothing  so 
inconsiderable,  which  may  not  appear  dreadful  to  an  imagination 
that  is  filled  with  omens  and  prognostics :  a  rusty  nail  or  a  crooked 
pin  shoot  up  into  prodigies. 

15° 


THE    SPECTATOR 

I  remember  I  was  once  in  a  mixed  assembly,  that  was  full  of  noise 
and  mirth,  when  on  a  sudden  an  old  woman  unluckily  observed 
there  were  thirteen  of  us  in  company.  This  remark  struck  a  panic 
terror  into  several  who  were  present,  insomuch  that  one  or  two  of 
the  ladies  were  going  to  leave  the  room;  but  a  friend  of  mine,  taking 
notice  that  one  of  our  female  companions  was  big  with  child, 
affirmed  there  were  fourteen  in  the  room,  and  that,  instead  of 
portending  one  of  the  company  should  die,  it'  plainly  foretold  one 
of  them  should  be  born.  Had  not  my  friend  found  this  expedient 
to  break  the  omen,  I  question  not  but  half  the  women  in  the  company 
would  have  fallen  sick  that  very  night. 

An  old  maid  that  is  troubled  with  the  vapours  produces  infinite 
disturbances  of  this  kind  among  her  friends  and  neighbours.  I 
know  a  maiden  aunt  of  a  great  family,  who  is  one  of  these  anti- 
quated Sybils,  that  forebodes  and  prophesies  from  one  end  of  the 
year  to  the  other.  She  is  always  seeing  apparitions  and  hearing 
death-watches;  and  was  the  other  day  almost  frightened  out  of 
her  wits  by  the  great  house-dog  that  howled  in  the  stable  at  a  time 
when  she  lay  ill  of  the  toothache.  Such  an  extravagant  cast  of 
mind  engages  multitudes  of  people,  not  only  in  impertinent  terrors, 
but  in  supernumerary  duties  of  life ;  and  arises  from  that  fear  and 
ignorance  which  are  natural  to  the  soul  of  man.  The  horror  with 
which  we  entertain  the  thoughts  of  death  (or  indeed  of  any  future 
evil),  and  the  uncertainty  of  its  approach,  fill  a  melancholy  mind 
with  innumerable  apprehensions  and  suspicions,  and  consequently 
dispose  it  to  the  observation  of  such  groundless  prodigies  and  pre- 
dictions. For  as  it  is  the  chief  concern  of  wise  men  to  retrench  the 
evils  of  life  by  the  reasonings  of  philosophy,  it  is  the  employment 
of  fools  to  multiply  them  by  the  sentiments  of  superstition. 

For  my  own  part,  I  should  be  very  much  troubled  were  I  endowed 
with  this  divining  quality,  though  it  should  inform  me  truly  of 
everything  that  can  befall  me.  I  would  not  anticipate  the  relish 
of  any  happiness,  nor  feel  the  weight  of  any  misery,  before  it  actually 
arrives. 

I  know  but  one  way  of  fortifying  my  soul  against  these  gloomy 
presages  and  terrors  of  mind;  and  that  is,  by  securing  to  myself 
the  friendship  and  protection  of  that  Being  who  disposes  of  events 
and  governs  futurity.  He  sees,  at  one  view,  the  whole  thread  of 
my  existence,  not  only  that  part  of  it  which  I  have  already  passed 
through,  but  that  which  runs  forward  into  all  the  depths  of  eternity. 


THE    SPECTATOR 

When  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep,  I  recommend  myself  to  his  care; 
when  I  awake,  I  give  myself  up  to  his  direction.  Amidst  all  the 
evils  that  threaten  me,  I  will  look  up  to  him  for  help;  and  question 
not  but  he  will  either  avert  them,  or  turn  them  to  my  advantage. 
Though  I  know  neither  the  time  nor  the  manner  of  the  death  I  am 
to  die,  I  am  not  at  all  solicitous  about  it ;  because  I  am  sure  that  He 
knows  them  both,  and  that  He  will  not  fail  to  comfort  and  support 
me  under  them. 


CLUBS 

No.  9.]  SATURDAY,  MARCH  10,  1710-11.  [ADDISON.] 

Tigris  agit  rabida  cum  tigride  pacem 

Perpetuam,  saevis  inter  se  convenit  ursis. 

Juv.  Sat.  xv.  163. 

Tiger  with  tiger,  bear  with  bear,  you'll  find 
In  leagues  offensive  and  defensive  join'd. 

MAN  is  said  to  be  a  sociable  animal,  and,  as  an  instance  of  it, 
we  may  observe  that  we  take  all  occasions  and  pretensions 
of  forming  ourselves  into  those  little  nocturnal  assemblies,  which  are 
commonly  known  by  the  name  of  clubs.  When  a  set  of  men  find 
themselves  agree  in  any  particular,  though  never  so  trivial,  they 
establish  themselves  into  a  kind  of  fraternity,  and  meet  once  or 
twice  a  week  upon  the  account  of  such  a  fantastic  resemblance. 
I  know  a  considerable  market-town  in  which  there  was  a  club  of 
fat  men,  that  did  not  come  together  (as  ycu  may  well  suppose)  to 
entertain  one  another  with  sprightliness  and  wit,  but  to  keep  one 
another  in  countenance.  The  room  where  the  club  met  was  some- 
thing of  the  largest,  and  had  two  entrances;  the  one  by  a  door  of 
moderate  size,  and  the  other  by  a  pair  of  folding  doors.  If  a 
candidate  for  this  corpulent  club  could  make  his  entrance  through 
the  first,  he  was  looked  upon  as  unqualified;  but  if  he  stuck  in  the 
passage,  and  could  not  force  his  way  through  it,  the  folding  doors 
were  immediately  thrown  open  for  his  reception,  and  he  was  saluted 
as  a  brother.  I  have  heard  that  this  club,  though  it  consisted  but 
of  fifteen  persons,  weighed  above  three  ton. 

152 


THE    SPECTATOR 

In  opposition  to  this  society,  there  sprung  up  another  composed 
of  scarecrows  and  skeletons,  who,  being  very  meagre  and  envious, 
did  all  they  could  to  thwart  the  designs  of  their  bulky  brethren, 
whom  they  represented  as  men  of  dangerous  principles,  till  at  length 
they  worked  them  out  of  the  favour  of  the  people,  and  consequently 
out  of  the  magistracy.  These  factions  tore  the  corporation  in  pieces 
for  several  years,  till  at  length  they  came  to  this  accommodation: 
that  the  two  bailiffs  of  the  town  should  be  annually  chosen  out  of 
the  two  clubs ;  by  which  means  the  principal  magistrates  are  at  this 
day  coupled  like  rabbits,  one  fat  and  one  lean. 

Every  one  has  heard  of  the  club,  or  rather  the  confederacy,  of 
the  Kings.  This  grand  alliance  was  formed  a  little  after  the  return 
of  King  Charles  the  Second,  and  admitted  into  it  men  of  all  qualities 
and  professions,  provided  they  agreed  in  this  surname  of  King, 
which,  as  they  imagined,  sufficiently  declared  the  owners  of  it  to  be 
altogether  untainted  with  republican  and  anti-monarchical  prin- 
ciples. 

A  Christian  name  has  likewise  been  often  used  as  a  badge  of 
distinction,  and  made  the  occasion  of  a  club.  That  of  the  George's, 
which  used  to  meet  at  the  sign  of  the  George  on  St.  George's  day, 
and  swear,  "  Before  George,"  is  still  fresh  in  every  one's  memory. 

There  are  at  present  in  several  parts  of  this  city  what  they  call 
street  clubs,  in  which  the  chief  inhabitants  of  the  street  converse 
together  every  night.  I  remember,  upon  my  inquiring  after  lodg- 
ings in  Ormond  Street,  the  landlord,  to  recommend  that  quarter 
of  the  town,  told  me  there  was  at  that  time  a  very  good  club  in  it; 
he  also  told  me,  upon  further  discourse  with  him,  that  two  or  three 
noisy  country  squires,  who  were  settled  there  the  year  before,  had 
considerably  sunk  the  price  of  house-rent;  and  that  the  club  (to 
prevent  the  like  inconveniences  for  the  future)  had  thoughts  of 
taking  every  house  that  became  vacant  into  their  own  hands,  till 
they  had  found  a  tenant  for  it  of  a  sociable  nature  and  good  con- 
versation. 

The  Hum-Drum  club,  of  which  I  was  formerly  an  unworthy 
member,  was  made  up  of  very  honest  gentlemen  of  peaceable 
dispositions,  that  used  to  sit  together,  smoke  their  pipes,  and  say 
nothing  till  midnight.  The  Mum  club  (as  I  am  informed)  is  an 
institution  of  the  same  nature,  and  as  great  an  enemy  to  noise. 

After  these  two  innocent  societies,  I  cannot  forbear  mentioning  a 
very  mischievous  one,  that  was  erected  in  the  reign  of  King  Charles 

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THE   SPECTATOR 

the  Second :  I  mean  the  club  of  Duellists,  in  which  none  was  to  be 
admitted  that  had  not  fought  his  man.  The  president  of  it  was 
said  to  have  killed  half-a-dozen  in  single  combat;  and,  as  for  the 
other  members,  they  took  their  seats  according  to  the  number  of 
their  slain.  There  was  likewise  a  side-table,  for  such  as  had  only 
drawn  blood,  and  shewn  a  laudable  ambition  of  taking  the  first 
opportunity  to  qualify  themselves  for  the  first  table.  This  club, 
consisting  only  of  men  of  honour,  did  not  continue  long,  most  of 
the  members  of  it  being  put  to  the  sword,  or  hanged,  a  little  after 
its  institution. 

Our  modern  celebrated  clubs  are  founded  upon  eating  and 
drinking,  which  are  points  wherein  most  men  agree,  and  in  which 
the  learned  and  illiterate,  the  dull  and  the  airy,  the  philosopher  and 
the  buffoon,  can  all  of  them  bear  a  part.  The  Kit-cat  itself  is  said 
to  have  taken  its  original  from  a  mutton-pie.  The  Beef-steak  and 
October  clubs  are  neither  of  them  averse  to  eating  and  drinking, 
if  we  may  form  a  judgment  of  them  from  their  respective  titles. 

When  men  are  thus  knit  together  by  a  love  of  society,  not  a  spirit 
of  faction,  and  do  not  meet  to  censure  or  annoy  those  that  are  absent, 
but  to  enjoy  one  another;  when  they  are  thus  combined  for  their  own 
improvement,  or  for  the  good  of  others,  or  at  least  to  relax  themselves 
from  the  business  of  the  day,  by  an  innocent  and  cheerful  conversa- 
tion, there  may  be  something  very  useful  in  these  little  institutions 
and  establishments. 

I  cannot  forbear  concluding  this  paper  with  a  scheme  of  laws 
that  I  met  with  upon  a  wall  in  a  little  alehouse.  How  I  came 
thither  I  may  inform  my  reader  at  a  more  convenient  time.  These 
laws  were  enacted  by  a  knot  of  artizans  and  mechanics,  who  used 
to  meet  every  night;  and,  as  there  is  something  in  them  which  gives 
us  a  pretty  picture  of  low  life,  I  shall  transcribe  them  word  for  word. 

RULES. 

To  be  observed  in  the  Two-penny  club,  erected  in  this  place  for  the 
preservation  of  friendship  and  good  neighbourhood. 

I.  Every  member  at  bis  first  coming  in  shall  lay  down  his  two- 
pence. 

II.  Every  member  shall  fill  his  pipe  out  of  his  own  box. 

III.  If  any  member  absents  himself,  he  shall  forfeit  a  penny  for 
the  use  of  the  club,  unless  in  case  of  sickness  or  imprisonment. 

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THE   SPECTATOR 

IV.  If  any  member  swears  or  curses,  his  neighbour  may  give  him 
a  kick  upon  the  shins. 

V.  If  any  member  tells  stories  in  the  club  that  are  not  true,  he 
shall  forfeit  for  every  third  lie  a  halfpenny. 

VI.  If  any  member  strikes  another  wrongfully,  he  shall  pay  his 
club  for  him. 

VII.  If  any  member  brings  his  wife  into  the  club,  he  shall  pay 
for  whatever  she  drinks  or  smokes. 

VIII.  If  any  member's  wife  comes  to  fetch  him  home  from  the 
club,  she  shall  speak  to  him  without  the  door. 

IX.  If  any  member  calls  another  a  cuckold,  he  shall  be  turned 
out  of  the  club. 

X.  None  shall  be  admitted  into  the  club  that  is  of  the  same  trade 
with  any  member  of  it. 

XI.  None  of  the  club  shall  have  his  clothes  or  shoes  made  or 
mended,  but  by  a  brother  member. 

XII.  No  non-juror  shall  be  capable  of  being  a  member. 

The  morality  of  this  little  club  is  guarded  by  such  wholesome 
laws  and  penalties,  that  I  question  not  but  my  reader  will  be  as 
well  pleased  with  them,  as  he  would  have  been  with  the  Leges 
Convivales  of  Ben  Jonson,  the  regulations  of  an  old  Roman  club 
cited  by  Lipsius,  or  the  rules  of  a  Symposium  in  an  ancient  Greek 
author.  C. 


THE   USES   OF   THE   SPECTATOR 

No.  10.]    MONDAY,  MARCH  12,  1710-11.    [ADDISON.!] 

Non  aliter  quam  qui  adverse  vix  flumine  lembum 

Remigiis  subigit:  si  brachia  forte  remisit, 

Atque  ilium  in  praeceps  prono  rapit  alveus  amni.  —  VIRG. 

IT  is  with  much  satisfaction  that  I  hear  this  great  city  inquiring 
day  by  day  after  these  my  papers,  and  receiving  my  morning 
lectures  with  a  becoming  seriousness  and  attention.  My  publisher 
tells  me,  that  there  are  already  three  thousand  of  them  distributed 
every  day:  so  that  if  I  allow  twenty  readers  to  every  paper,  which  I 
look  upon  as  a  modest  computation,  I  may  reckon  about  threescore 
thousand  disciples  in  London  and  Westminster,  who  I  hope  will 

155 


THE    SPECTATOR 

take  care  to  distinguish  themselves  from  the  thoughtless  herd  of 
their  ignorant  and  unattentive  brethren.  Since  I  have  raised  to 
myself  so  great  an  audience,  I  shall  spare  no  pains  to  make  their  in- 
struction agreeable,  and  their  diversion  useful.  For  which  reasons  I 
shall  endeavour  to  enliven  morality  with  wit,  and  to  temper  wit  with 
morality,  that  my  readers  may,  if  possible,  both  ways  fijid  their  ac. 
count  in  the  speculation  of  the  day.  And  to  the  end  that  their  vir- 
tue and  discretion  may  not  be  short,  transient,  intermitting  starts 
of  thought,  I  have  resolved  to  refresh  their  memories  from  day  to 
day,  till  I  have  recovered  them  out  of  that  desperate  state  of  vice 
and  folly  into  which  the  age  is  fallen.  The  mind  that  lies  fallow 
but  a  single  day,  sprouts  up  in  follies  that  are  only  to  be  killed  by 
a  constant  and  assiduous  culture.  It  was  said  of  Socrates  that  he 
brought  Philosophy  down  from  Heaven,  to  inhabit  among  men; 
and  I  shall  be  ambitious  to  have  it  said  of  me,  that  I  have  brought 
Philosophy  out  of  clcsets  and  libraries,  schools  and  colleges,  to  dwell 
in  clubs  and  assemblies,  at  tea-tables  and  in  coffee-houses. 

I  would  therefore  in  a  very  particular  manner  recommend  these 
my  speculations  to  all  well-regulated  families  that  set  apart  an  hour 
in  every  morning  for  tea  and  bread  and  butter ;  and  would  earnestly 
advise  them  for  their  good  to  order  this  paper  to  be  punctually 
served  up,  and  to  be  looked  upon  as  a  part  of  the  tea  equipage. 

Sir  Francis  Bacon  observes,  that  a  well-written  book,  compared 
with  its  rivals  and  antagonists,  is  like  Moses's  serpent,  that  immedi- 
ately swallowed  up  and  devoured  those  of  the  Egyptians.  I  shall 
not  be  so  vain  as  to  think  that,  where  the  SPECTATOR  appears,  the 
other  public  prints  will  vanish;  but  shall  leave  it  to  my  readers'  con- 
sideration, whether,  is  it  not  much  better  to  be  let  into  the  knowledge 
of  one's  self,  than  to  hear  what  passes  in  Muscovy  or  Poland ;  and 
to  amuse  ourselves  with  such  writings  as  tend  to  the  wearing  out  of 
ignorance,  passion,  and  prejudice,  than  such  as  naturally  conduce 
to  inflame  hatreds,  and  make  enmities  irreconcilable  ? 

In  the  next  place,  I  would  recommend  this  paper  to  the  daily  pe- 
rusal of  those  gentlemen  whom  I  cannot  but  consider  as  my  good 
brothers  and  allies,  I  mean  the  fraternity  of  Spectators,  who  live  in 
the  world  without  having  anything  to  do  in  it;  and  either  by  the 
affluence  of  their  fortunes,  or  laziness  of  their  dispositions,  have  no 
other  business  with  the  rest  of  mankind,  but  to  look  upon  them. 
Under  this  class  of  men  are  comprehended  all  contemplative  trades- 
men, titular  physicians,  fellows  of  the  Royal  Society,  Templars  that 

156 


THE    SPECTATOR 

are  not  given  to  be  contentious,  and  statesmen  that  are  out  of  busi- 
ness; in  short,  every  one  that  considers  the  world  as  a  theatre,  and 
desires  to  form  a  right  judgment  of  those  who  are  the  actors  on  it. 

There  is  another  set  of  men  that  I  must  likewise  lay  a  claim  to, 
whom  I  have  lately  called  the  blanks  of  society,  as  being  altogether 
unfurnished  with  ideas,  till  the  business  and  conversation  of  the 
day  has  supplied  them.  I  have  often  considered  these  poor  souls 
with  an  eye  of  great  commiseration,  when  I  have  heard  them  ask- 
ing the  first  man  they  have  met  with,  whether  there  was  any  news 
stirring?  and  by  that  means  gathering  together  materials  for 
thinking.  These  needy  persons  do  not  know  what  to  talk  of,  till 
about  twelve  a  clock  in  the  morning;  for  by  that  time  they  are 
pretty  good  judges  of  the  weather,  know  which  way  the  wind  sits, 
and  whether  the  Dutch  mail  be  come  in.  As  they  lie  at  the  mercy 
of  the  first  man  they  meet,  and  are  grave  cr  impertinent  all  the  day 
long,  according  to  the  notions  which  they  have  imbibed  in  the 
morning,  I  would  earnestly  entreat  them  not  to  stir  cut  of  their 
chambers  till  they  have  read  this  paper,  and  do  promise  them  that 
I  will  daily  instil  into  them  such  sound  and  wholesome  sentiments, 
as  shall  have  a  good  effect  on  their  conversation  for  the  ensuing 
twelve  hours. 

But  there  are  none  to  whom  this  paper  will  be  more  useful,  than 
to  the  female  world.  I  have  often  thought  there  has  not  been  suffi- 
cient pains  taken  in  finding  out  proper  employments  and  diversions 
for  the  fair  ones. 

Their  amusements  seem  contrived  for  them,  rather  as  they  are 
women,  than  as  they  are  reasonable  creatures;  and  are  more  adapted 
to  the  sex  than  to  the  species.  The  toilet  is  their  great  scene  of 
business,  and  the  right  adjusting  of  their  hah*  the  principal  employ- 
ment of  their  lives.  The  sorting  of  a  suit  of  ribbons  is  reckoned 
a  very  good  morning's  work;  and  if  they  make  an  excursion  to  a 
mercer's  or  a  toy-shop,  so  great  a  fatigue  makes  them  unfit  for  any- 
thing else  all  the  day  after.  Their  more  serious  occupations  are 
sewing  and  embroidery,  and  then-  greatest  drudgery,  the  prepara- 
tion of  jellies  and  sweet-meats.  This,  I  say,  is  the  state  of  ordinary 
women;  though  I  know  there  are  multitudes  of  those  of  a  more 
elevated  life  and  conversation,  that  move  in  an  exalted  sphere  of 
knowledge  and  virtue,  that  join  all  the  beauties  of  the  mind  to  the 
ornaments  of  dress,  and  inspire  a  kind  of  awe  and  respect,  as  well 
as  love,  into  their  male  beholders.  I  hope  to  increase  the  number 

157 


THE    SPECTATOR 

of  these  by  publishing  this  daily  paper,  which  I  shall  always  en- 
deavour to  make  an  innocent  if  not  an  improving  entertainment, 
and  by  that  means  at  least  divert  the  minds  of  my  female  readers 
from  greater  trifles.  At  the  same  time,  as  I  would  fain  give  some 
finishing  touches  to  those  which  are  already  the  most  beautiful 
pieces  in  human  nature,  I  shall  endeavour  to  point  out  all  those 
imperfections  that  are  the  blemishes,  as  well  as  those  virtues  which 
are  the  embellishments,  of  the  sex.  In  the  mean  while  I  hope  these 
my  gentle  readers,  who  have  so  much  time  on  their  hands,  will  not 
grudge  throwing  away  a  quarter  of  an  hour  in  a  day  on  this  paper, 
since  they  may  do  it  without  any  hindrance  to  business. 

I  know  several  of  my  friends  and  well-wishers  are  in  great  pain 
for  me,  lest  I  should  not  be  able  to  keep  up  the  spirit  of  a  paper 
which  I  oblige  myself  to  furnish  every  day :  but  to  make  them  easy 
in  this  particular,  I  will  promise  them  faithfully  to  give  it  over  as 
soon  as  I  grow  dull.  This  I  know  will  be  matter  of  great  raillery 
to  the  small  wits;  who  will  frequently  put  me  in  mind  of  my  promise, 
desire  me  to  keep  my  word,  assure  me  that  it  is  high  time  to  give 
over,  with  many  other  pleasantries  of  the  like  nature,  which  men 
of  a  little  smart  genius  cannot  forbear  throwing  out  against  their 
best  friends,  when  they  have  such  a  handle  given  them  of  being 
witty.  But  let  them  remember  that  I  do  hereby  enter  my  caveat 
against  this  piece  of  raillery. 


EFFECT    OF    THE    SUPERNATURAL    ON 
THE   IMAGINATION 

No.  i2.]    WEDNESDAY,  MARCH  14,  1710-11.    [ADDISON.] 

Veteres  avias  tibi  de  pulmone  revello. 

PERS.  Sat.  v.  92. 

I  root  th'  old  woman  from  thy  trembling  heart. 

AT  my  coming   to    London,  it  was  some  time  before  I  could 
settle  myself  in  a  house  to  my  liking.     I  was  forced  to  quit 
my  first  lodgings,  by  reason  of  an  officious  landlady,  that  would  be 
asking  me  every  morning  how  I  had  slept.    I  then  fell  into  an 

158 


THE    SPECTATOR 

honest  family,  and  lived  very  happily  for  above  a  week;  when 
my  landlord,  who  was  a  jolly,  good-natured  man,  took  it  into  his 
head  that  I  wanted  company,  and  therefore  would  frequently  come 
into  my  chamber  to  keep  me  from  being  alone.  This  I  bore  for 
two  or  three  days;  but  telling  me  one  day  that  he  was  afraid  I  was 
melancholy,  I  thought  it  was  high  time  for  me  to  be  gone,  and 
accordingly  took  new  lodgings  that  very  night.  About  a  week 
after,  I  found  my  jolly  landlord,  who,  as  I  said  before,  was  an 
honest,  hearty  man,  had  put  me  into  an  advertisement  of  the  Daily 
Courant,  in  the  following  words:  "Whereas  a  melancholy  man  left 
his  lodgings  on  Thursday  last  in  the  afternoon,  and  was  afterwards 
seen  going  towards  Islington;  if  any  one  can  give  notice  of  him  to 
R.  B.,  fishmonger  in  the  Strand,  he  shall  be  very  well  rewarded  for 
his  pains."  As  I  am  the  best  man  in  the  world  to  keep  my  own 
counsel,  and  my  landlord  the  fishmonger  not  knowing  my  name, 
this  accident  of  my  life  was  never  discovered  to  this  very  day. 

I  am  now  settled  with  a  widow  woman,  who  has  a  great  many 
children,  and  complies  with  my  humour  in  everything.  I  do  not 
remember  that  we  have  exchanged  a  word  together  these  five 
years;  my  coffee  comes  into  my  chamber  every  morning  without 
asking  for  it;  if  I  want  fire,  I  point  to  my  chimney;  if  water,  to  my 
bason;  upon  which  my  landlady  nods,  as  much  as  to  say  she  takes 
my  meaning,  and  immediately  obeys  my  signals.  She  has  likewise 
modelled  her  family  so  well,  that  when  her  little  boy  offers  to  pull 
me  by  the  coat,  or  prattle  in  my  face,  his  eldest  sister  immediately 
calls  him  off,  and  bids  him  not  to  disturb  the  gentleman.  At  my 
first  entering  into  the  family,  I  was  troubled  with  the  civility  of 
their  rising  up  to  me  every  time  I  came  into  the  room ;  but  my  land- 
lady observing  that  upon  these  occasions  I  always  cried  Pish,  and 
went  out  again,  has  forbidden  any  such  ceremony  to  be  used  in  the 
house ;  so  that  at  present  I  walk  into  the  kitchen  or  parlour  without 
being  taken  notice  of  or  giving  any  interruption  to  the  business  or 
discourse  of  the  family.  The  maid  will  ask  her  mistress  (though 
I  am  by)  whether  the  gentleman  is  ready  to  go  to  dinner,  as  the 
mistress  (who  is  indeed  an  excellent  housewife)  scolds  at  the  ser- 
vants as  heartily  before  my  face  as  behind  my  back.  In  short,  I 
move  up  and  down  the  house,  and  enter  into  all  companies,  with 
the  same  liberty  as  a  cat  or  any  other  domestic  animal,  and  am  as 
little  suspected  of  telling  anything  that  I  hear  or  see. 

I  remember  last  winter  there  were  several  young  girls  of  the 

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THE    SPECTATOR 

neighbourhood  sitting  about  the  fire  with  my  landlady's  daughters, 
and  telling  stories  of  spirits  and  apparitions.  Upon  my  opening 
the  door  the  young  women  broke  off  their  discourse,  but  my  land- 
lady's daughters  telling  them  that  it  was  nobody  but  the  gentleman 
(for  that  is  the  name  which  I  go  by  in  the  neighbourhood  as  well  as 
in  the  family),  they  went  on  without  minding  me.  I  seated  myself 
by  the  candle  that  stood  on  a  table  at  one  end  of  the  room;  and  pre- 
tending to  read  a  book  that  I  took  out  of  my  pocket,  heard  several 
dreadful  stories  of  ghosts  as  pale  as  ashes  that  had  stood  at  the 
feet  of  a  bed,  or  walked  over  a  churchyard  by  moonlight,  and  of 
others  that  had  been  conjured  into  the  Red  Sea,  for  disturbing 
people's  rest,  and  drawing  their  curtains  at  midnight;  with  many 
other  old  women's  fables  of  the  like  nature.  As  one  spirit  raised 
another,  I  observed  that  at  the  end  of  every  story  the  whole  com- 
pany closed  their  ranks,  and  crowded  about  the  fire.  I  took 
notice  in  particular  cf  a  little  boy,  who  was  so  very  attentive  to  every 
story,  that  I  am  mistaken  if  he  ventures  to  go  to  bed  by  himself  this 
twelvemonth.  Indeed  they  talked  so  long,  that  the  imaginations 
of  the  whole  assembly  were  manifestly  crazed,  and  I  am  sure  will 
be  the  worse  for  it  as  long  as  they  live.  I  heard  one  of  the  girls, 
that  had  looked  upon  me  over  her  shoulder,  asking  the  company 
how  long  I  had  been  in  the  room,  and  whether  I  did  not  look  paler 
than  I  used  to  do.  This  put  me  under  some  apprehensions  that  I 
should  be  forced  to  explain  myself  if  I  did  not  retire;  fcr  which 
reason  I  took  the  candle  in  my  hand,  and  went  up  into  my  chamber, 
not  without  wondering  at  this  unaccountable  weakness  in  reason- 
able creatures,  that  they  should  love  to  astonish  and  terrify  one 
another.  Were  I  a  father,  I  should  take  a  particular  care  to  pre- 
serve my  children  from  these  little  horrors  of  imagination,  which 
they  are  apt  to  contract  when  they  are  young,  and  are  not  able  to 
shake  off  when  they  are  in  years.  I  have  known  a  soldier  that  has 
entered  a  breach,  affrighted  at  his  own  shadow,  and  look  pale  upon 
a  little  scratching  at  his  door,  who  the  day  before  had  marched  up 
against  a  battery  of  cannon.  There  are  instances  of  persons  who 
have  been  terrified,  even  to  distraction,  at  the  figure  of  a  tree,  or 
the  shaking  cf  a  bulrush.  The  truth  of  it  is,  I  look  upon  a  sound 
imagination  as  the  greatest  blessing  of  life,  next  to  a  clear  judgment 
and  a  good  conscience.  In  the  meantime,  since  there  are  very  few 
whose  minds  are  not  more  or  less  subject  to  these  dreadful  thoughts 
and  apprehensions,  we  ought  to  arm  ourselves  against  them  by 

1 60 


THE    SPECTATOR 

the  dictates  of  reason  and  religion,  "to  pull  the  old  woman  out  of 
our  hearts"  (as  Persius  expresses  it  in  the  motto  of  my  paper), 
and  extinguish  those  impertinent  notions  which  we  imbibed  at  a 
time  that  we  were  not  able  to  judge  of  their  absurdity.  Or,  if  we 
believe,  as  many  wise  and  good  men  have  done,  that  there  are  such 
phantoms  and  apparitions  as  those  I  have  been  speaking  of,  let  us 
endeavour  to  establish  to  ourselves  an  interest  in  Him  who  holds 
the  reins  of  the  whole  creation  in  His  hand,  and  moderates  them 
after  such  a  manner,  that  it  is  impossible  for  one  being  to  break 
loose  upon  another  without  His  knowledge  and  permission. 

For  my  own  part,  I  am  apt  to  join  in  opinion  with  those  who 
believe  that  all  the  regions  of  nature  swarm  with  spirits;  and  that 
we  have  multitudes  of  spectators  on  all  our  actions,  when  we  think 
ourselves  most  alone;  but  instead  of  terrifying  myself  with  such  a 
notion,  I  am  wonderfully  pleased  to  think  that  I  am  always  engaged 
with  such  an  innumerable  society,  in  searching  out  the  wonders  of 
the  creation,  and  joining  in  the  same  consort  of  praise  and  adora- 
tion. 

Milton  has  finely  described  this  mixed  communion  of  men 
and  spirits  in  paradise;  and  had  doubtless  his  eye  upon  a  verse  in 
old  Hesiod,  which  is  almost  word  for  word  the  same  with  his  third 
line  in  the  following  passage :  — 

"  Nor  think,  though  men  were  none, 

That  heav'n  would  want  spectators,  God  want  praise: 
Millions  of  spiritual  creatures  walk  the  earth 
Unseen,  both  when  we  wake  and  when  we  sleep; 
All  these  with  ceaseless  praise  his  works  behold 
Both  day  and  night.     How  often  from  the  steep 
Of  echoing  hill  or  thicket  have  we  heard 
Celestial  voices  to  the  midnight  air, 
Sole,  or  responsive  each  to  other's  note, 
Singing  their  great  Creator?     Oft  in  bands, 
While  they  keep  watch,  or  nightly  rounding  walk, 
With  heav'nly  touch  of  instrumental  sounds, 
In  full  harmonic  number  join'd,  their  songs 
Divide  the  night  and  lift  our  thoughts  to  heav'n." 

c. 


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DRESS  AND  SHOW 

No.  15.]    SATURDAY,   MARCH   17,    1710-11.    [ADDISON.] 

Parva  leves  capiunt  animos 

OVID,  Ars.  Am.  i.  159. 

Light  minds  are  pleas'd  with  trifles. 

WHEN  I  was  in  France,  I  used  to  gaze  with  great  astonishment 
at  the  splendid  equipages  and  party-coloured  habits  of  that 
fantastic  nation.  I  was  one  day  in  particular  contemplating  a  lady 
that  sat  in  a  coach  adorned  with  gilded  cupids,  and  finely  painted 
with  the  Loves  of  Venus  and  Adonis.  The  coach  was  drawn  by 
six  milk-white  horses,  and  loaded  behind  with  the  same  number  of 
powdered  footmen.  Just  before  the  lady  were  a  couple  of  beautiful 
pages,  that  were  stuck  among  the  harness,  and,  by  their  gay  dresses 
and  smiling  features,  looked  like  the  elder  brothers  of  the  little  boys 
that  were  carved  and  painted  in  every  corner  of  the  coach. 

The  lady  was  the  unfortunate  Cleanthe,  who  afterwards  gave  an 
occasion  to  a  pretty  melancholy  novel.  She  had,  for  several  years, 
received  the  addresses  of  a  gentleman,  whom,  after  a  long  and  inti- 
mate acquaintance,  she  forsook,  upon  the  account  of  this  shining 
equipage,  which  had  been  offered  to  her  by  one  of  great  riches,  but 
a  crazy  constitution.  The  circumstances  in  which  I  saw  her,  were, 
it  seems,  the  disguises  only  of  a  broken  heart,  and  a  kind  of  pagean- 
try to  cover  distress ;  for  in  two  months  after  she  was  carried  to  her 
grave  with  the  same  pomp  and  magnificence,  being  sent  thither 
partly  by  the  loss  of  one  lover,  and  partly  by  the  possession  of 
another. 

I  have  often  reflected  with  myself  on  this  unaccountable  humour 
in  womankind,  of  being  smitten  with  every  thing  that  is  showy  and 
superficial;  and  on  the  numberless  evils  that  befall  the  sex  from 
this  light  fantastical  disposition.  I  myself  remember  a  young  lady 
that  was  very  warmly  solicited-  by  a  couple  of  importunate  rivals, 
who,  for  several  months  together,  did  all  they  could  to  recommend 
themselves  by  complacency  of  behaviour  and  agreeableness  of  con- 
versation. At  length,  when  the  competition  was  doubtful,  and  the 

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THE    SPECTATOR 

lady  undetermined  in  her  choice,  one  of  the  young  lovers  very 
luckily  bethought  himself  of  adding  a  supernumerary  lace  to  his 
liveries,  which  had  so  good  an  effect  that  he  married  her  the  very 
week  after. 

The  useful  conversation  of  ordinary  women  very  much  cherishes 
this  natural  weakness  of  being  taken  with  outside  and  appearance. 
Talk  of  a  new-married  couple,  and  you  immediately  hear  whether 
they  keep  their  coach  and  six,  or  eat  in  plate.  Mention  the  name 
of  an  absent  lady,  and  it  is  ten  to  one  but  you  learn  something  of  her 
gown  and  petticoat.  A  ball  is  a  great  help  to  discourse,  and  a  birth- 
day furnishes  conversation  for  a  twelvemonth  after.  A  furbelow  of 
precious  stones,  a  hat  buttoned  with  a  diamond,  a  brocade  waist- 
coat or  petticoat,  are  standing  topics.  In  short,  they  consider  only 
the  drapery  of  the  species,  and  never  cast  away  a  thought  on  those 
ornaments  of  the  mind  that  make  persons  illustrious  in  themselves 
and  useful  to  others.  When  women  are  thus  perpetually  dazzling 
one  another's  imaginations,  and  filling  their  heads  with  nothing  but 
colours,  it  is  no  wonder  that  they  are  more  attentive  to  the  super- 
ficial parts  of  life,  than  the  solid  and  substantial  blessings  of  it.  A 
girl  who  has  been  trained  up  in  this  kind  of  conversation,  is  in 
danger  of  every  embroidered  coat  that  comes  in  her  way.  A  pair  of 
fringed  gloves  may  be  her  ruin.  In  a  word,  lace  and  ribands, 
silver  and  gold  galloons,  with  the  like  glittering  gewgaws,  are  so 
many  lures  to  women  of  weak  minds  or  low  educations,  and,  when 
artificially  displayed,  are  able  to  fetch  down  the  most  airy  coquette 
from  the  wildest  of  her  flights  and  rambles. 

True  happiness  is  of  a  retired  nature,  and  an  enemy  to  pomp  and 
noise;  it  arises,  in  the  first  place,  from  the  enjoyment  of  one's  self; 
and,  in  the  next,  from  the  friendship  and  conversation  of  a  few 
select  companions;  it  loves  shade  and  solitude,  and  naturally 
haunts  groves  and  fountains,  fields  and  meadows;  in  short,  it  feels 
every  thing  it  wants  within  itself,  and  receives  no  additions  from 
multitudes  of  witnesses  and  spectators.  On  the  contrary,  false 
happiness  loves  to  be  in  a  crowd,  and  to  draw  the  eyes  of  the  world 
upon  her.  She  does  not  receive  any  satisfaction  from  the  applauses 
which  she  gives  herself,  but  from  the  admiration  which  she  raises  in 
others.  She  flourishes  in  court  and  palaces,  theatres  and  assem- 
blies, and  has  no  existence  but  when  she  is  looked  upon. 

Aurelia,  though  a  woman  of  great  quality,  delights  in  the  privacy 
of  a  country  life,  and  passes  away  a  great  part  of  her  time  in  her 

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THE   SPECTATOR 

own  walks  and  gardens.  Her  husband,  who  is  her  bosom  friend  and 
companion  in  her  solitudes,  has  been  in  love  with  her  ever  since  he 
knew  her.  They  both  abound  with  good  sense,  consummate  virtue, 
and  a  mutual  esteem;  and  are  a  perpetual  entertainment  to  one 
another.  Their  family  is  under  so  regular  an  economy,  in  its  hours 
of  devotion  and  repast,  employment  and  diversion,  that  it  looks 
like  a  little  commonwealth  within  itself.  They  often  go  into  com- 
pany, that  they  may  return  with  the  greater  delight  to  one  another ; 
and  sometimes  live  in  town,  not  to  enjoy  it  so  properly  as  to  grow 
weary  of  it,  that  they  may  renew  in  themselves  the  relish  of  a  country 
life.  By  this  means  they  are  happy  in  each  other,  beloved  by  their 
children,  adored  by  their  servants,  and  are  become  the  envy,  or 
rather  the  delight,  of  all  that  know  them. 

How  different  to  this  is  the  life  of  Fulvia!  she  considers  her 
husband  as  her  steward,  and  looks  upon  discretion  and  good  house- 
wifery as  little  domestic  virtues  unbecoming  a  woman  of  quality. 
She  thinks  life  lost  in  her  own  family,  and  fancies  herself  out  of 
the  world,  when  she  is  not  in  the  ring,  the  playhouse,  or  the  drawing- 
room.  She  lives  in  a  perpetual  motion  of  body,  and  restlessness  of 
thought,  and  it  is  never  easy  in  any  one  place,  when  she  thinks 
there  is  more  company  in  another.  The  missing  of  an  opera  the 
first  night,  would  be  more  afflicting  to  her  than  the  death  of  a  child. 
She  pities  all  the  valuable  part  of  her  own  sex,  and  calls  every 
woman  of  a  prudent,  modest,  and  retired  life,  a  poor-spirited 
unpolished  creature.  What  a  mortification  would  it  be  to  Fulvia, 
if  she  knew  that  her  setting  herself  to  view  is  but  exposing  herself, 
and  that  she  grows  contemptible  by  being  conspicuous? 

I  cannot  conclude  my  paper,  without  observing,  that  Virgil  has 
very  finely  touched  upon  this  female  passion  for  dress  and  show,  in 
the  character  of  Camilla;  who,  though  she  seems  to  have  shaken 
off  all  the  other  weaknesses  of  her  sex,  is  still  described  as  a  woman 
in  this  particular.  The  poet  tells  us,  that,  after  having  made  a 
great  slaughter  of  the  enemy,  she  unfortunately  cast  her  eye  on  a 
Trojan  who  wore  an  embroidered  tunic,  a  beautiful  coat  of  mail, 
with  a  mantle  of  the  finest  purple.  "A  golden  bow,"  says  he, 
"hung  upon  his  shoulder;  his  garment  was  buckled  with  a  golden 
clasp,  and  his  head  covered  with  a  helmet  of  the  same  shining 
metal."  The  Amazon  immediately  singled  out  this  well-dressed 
warrior,  being  seized  with  a  woman's  longing  for  the  pretty  trappings 
that  he  was  adorned  with: 

164 


THE    SPECTATOR 

Totumque  incauta  per  agmen 

Fcemineo  praedae  et  spoliorum  ardebat  amore." 

This  heedless  pursuit  after  these  glittering  trifles,  the  poet  (by  a 
nice  concealed  moral)  represents  to  have  been  the  destruction  of 
his  female  hero.  C. 


ITALIAN    OPERA 

No.  18.]    WEDNESDAY,  MARCH  21,  1710-11.    [ADDISON.] 

—  Equitis  quoque  jam  migravit  ab  aure  voluptas 
Omnis  ad  incertos  oculos  et  gaudia  vana.  —  HOR. 

But  now  our  nobles  too  are  fops  and  vain, 
Neglect  the  sense,  but  love  the  painted  scene. 

IT  is  my  design  in  this  paper  to  deliver  down  to  posterity  a 
faithful  account  of  the  Italian  Opera,  and  of  the  gradual  pro- 
gress which  it  has  made  upon  the  English  stage:  For  there  is  no 
question  but  our  great  grandchildren  will  be  very  curious  to  know 
the  reason  why  their  forefathers  used  to  sit  together  like  an  audi- 
ence of  foreigners  in  their  own  country,  and  to  hear  whole  plays 
acted  before  them  in  a  tongue  which  they  did  not  understand. 

Arsinoe  was  the  first  opera  that  gave  us  a  taste  of  Italian  music. 
The  great  success  this  opera  met  with,  produced  some  attempts  of 
forming  pieces  upon  Italian  plans,  which  should  give  a  more  natural 
and  reasonable  entertainment  than  what  can  be  met  with  in  the 
elaborate  trifles  of  that  nation.  This  alarmed  the  poetasters  and 
fiddlers  of  the  town,  who  were  used  to  deal  in  a  more  ordinary  kind 
of  ware;  and  therefore  laid  down  an  established  rule,  which  is  re- 
ceived as  such  to  this  day,  That  nothing  is  capable  oj  being  well  set 
to  music,  that  is  not  nonsense. 

This  maxim  was  no  sooner  received,  but  we  immediately  fell  to 
translating  the  Italian  operas;  and  as  there  was  no  great  danger  of 
hurting  the  sense  of  those  extraordinary  pieces,  our  authors  would 
often  make  words  of  their  own  which  were  entirely  foreign  to  the 
meaning  of  the  passages  they  pretended  to  translate;  their  chief 
care  being  to  make  the  numbers  of  the  English  verse  answer  to 

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THE    SPECTATOR 

those  of  the  Italian,  that  both  of  them  might  go  to  the  same  tune. 
Thus  the  famous  song  in  Camilla, 

"Barbara  si  t'  intendo,"   &c. 
"Barbarous  woman,  yes,  I  know  your  meaning," 

which  expresses  the  resentments  of  an  angry  lover,  was  translated 
into  that  English  lamentation  — 

"Frail  are  a  lover's  hopes,"  &c. 

And  it  was  pleasant  enough  to  see  the  most  refined  persons  of  the 
British  nation  dying  away  and  languishing  to  notes  that  were  filled 
with  a  spirit  of  rage  and  indignation.  It  happened  also  very  fre- 
quently, where  the  sense  was  rightly  translated,  the  necessary  trans- 
position of  words  which  were  drawn  out  of  the  phrase  of  one  tongue 
into  that  of  another,  made  the  music  appear  very  absurd  in  one 
tongue  that  was  very  natural  in  the  other.  I  remember  an  Italian 
verse  that  ran  thus  word  for  word, 

"And  turn'd  my  rage  into  pity;" 
which  the  English  for  rhyme  sake  translated, 
"And  into  pity  tum'd  my  rage." 

By  this  means  the  soft  notes  that  were  adapted  to  pity  in  the  Italian, 
fell  upon  the  word  rage  in  the  English;  and  the  angry  sounds  that 
were  turned  to  rage  in  the  original,  were  made  to  express  pity  in 
the  translation.  It  oftentimes  happened  likewise,  that  the  finest 
notes  in  the  air  fell  upon  the  most  insignificant  words  in  the  sen- 
tence. I  have  known  the  word  and  pursued  through  the  whole 
gamut,  have  been  entertained  with  many  a  melodious  the,  and  have 
heard  the  most  beautiful  graces,  quavers  and  divisions  bestowed 
upon  then,  for,  and  from;  to  the  eternal  honour  of  our  English 
particles. 

The  next  step  to  our  refinement,  was  the  introducing  of  Italian 
actors  into  our  opera;  who  sung  their  parts  in  their  own  language, 
at  the  same  time  that  our  countrymen  performed  theirs  in  our  native 
tongue.  The  king  or  hero  of  the  play  generally  spoke  in  Italian, 
and  his  slaves  answered  him  in  English:  the  lover  frequently  made 
his  court,  and  gained  the  heart  of  his  princess  in  a  language  which 
she  did  not  understand.  One  would  have  thought  it  very  difficult 
to  have  carried  on  dialogues  after  this  manner,  without  an  inter- 

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THE    SPECTATOR 

preter  between  the  persons  that  conversed  together;  but  this  was 
the  state  of  the  English  stage  for  about  three  years. 

At  length  the  audience  grew  tired  of  understanding  half  the  opera, 
and  therefore  to  ease  themselves  entirely  of  the  fatigue  of  thinking, 
have  so  ordered  it  at  present  that  the  whole  opera  is  performed  in 
an  unknown  tongue.  We  no  longer  understand  the  language  of  our 
own  stage;  insomuch  that  I  have  often  been  afraid,  when  I  have 
seen  our  Italian  performers  chattering  in  the  vehemence  of  action, 
that  they  have  been  calling  us  names,  and  abusing  us  among  them- 
selves; but  I  hope,  since  we  do  put  such  an  entire  confidence  in  them, 
they  will  not  talk  against  us  before  our  faces,  though  they  may  do  it 
with  the  same  safety  as  if  it  were  behind  our  backs.  In  the  mean- 
time I  cannot  forbear  thinking  how  naturally  an  historian,  who 
writes  two  or  three  hundred  years  hence,  and  does  not  know  the 
taste  of  his  wise  fore-fathers,  will  make  the  following  reflection, 
In  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century,  the  Italian  tongue  was 
so  well  understood  in  England,  that  operas  were  acted  on  the  public 
stage  in  that  language. 

One  scarce  knows  how  to  be  serious  in  the  confutation  of  an 
absurdity  that  shews  itself  at  the  first  sight.  It  does  not  want  any 
great  measure  of  sense  to  see  the  ridicule  of  this  monstrous  practice ; 
but  what  makes  it  the  more  astonishing,  it  is  not  the  taste  of  the 
rabble,  but  of  persons  of  the  greatest  politeness,  which  has  estab- 
lished it. 

If  the  Italians  have  a  genius  for  music  above  the  English,  the 
English  have  a  genius  for  other  performances  of  a  much  higher 
nature,  and  capable  of  giving  the  mind  a  much  nobler  entertain- 
ment. Would  one  think  it  was  possible  (at  a  time  when  an  author 
lived  that  was  able  to  write  the  Phcedra  and  Hippolitus)  for  a  people 
to  be  so  stupidly  fond  of  the  Italian  opera,  as  scarce  to  give  a  third 
day's  hearing  to  that  admirable  tragedy  ?  Music  is  certainly  a  very 
agreeable  entertainment,  but  if  it  would  take  the  entire  possession 
of  our  ears,  if  it  would  make  us  incapable  of  hearing  sense,  if  it 
would  exclude  arts  that  have  a  much  greater  tendency  to  the  refine- 
ment of  human  nature:  I  must  confess  I  would  allow  it  no  better 
quarter  than  Plato  has  done,  who  banishes  it  out  of  his  common- 
wealth. 

At  present,  our  notions  of  music  are  so  very  uncertain,  that  we  do 
not  know  what  it  is  we  like,  only,  in  general,  we  are  transported 
with  any  thing  that  is  not  English:  so  if  it  be  of  a  foreign  growth, 

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THE    SPECTATOR 

let  it  be  Italian,  French,  or  High-Dutch,  it  is  the  same  thing.  In 
short,  our  English  music  is  quite  rooted  out,  and  nothing  yet  planted 
in  its  stead. 

When  a  royal  palace  is  burnt  to  the  ground,  every  man  is  at  liberty 
to  present  his  plan  for  a  new  one ;  and  though  it  be  but  indifferently 
put  together,  it  may  furnish  several  hints  that  may  be  of  use  to  a 
good  architect.  I  shall  take  the  same  liberty  in  a  following  paper, 
of  giving  my  opinion  upon  the  subject  of  music,  which  I  shall  lay 
down  only  in  a  problematical  manner  to  be  considered  by  those 
who  are  masters  in  the  art.  C. 


CHOICE  OF  A  PROFESSION 

No.  21.]    SATURDAY,  MARCH  24,  1710-11.    [ADDISON.J] 

Locus  est  et  pluribus  umbris. 

HOR.  i  Ep.  v.  28. 

There's  room  enough,  a.nd  each  may  bring  his -friend. 

I  AM  sometimes  very  much  troubled  when  I  reflect  upon  the 
three  great  professions  of  divinity,  law,  and  physic;  how  they 
are  each  of  them  overburdened  with  practitioners,  and  filled  with 
multitudes  of  ingenious  gentlemen  that  starve  one  another. 

We  may  divide  the  clergy  into  generals,  field-officers,  and  sub- 
alterns. Among  the  first  we  may  reckon  bishops,  deans,  and 
archdeacons.  Among  the  second  are  doctors  of  divinity,  prebenda- 
ries, and  all  that  wear  scarfs.  The  rest  are  comprehended  under 
the  subalterns.  As  for  the  first  class,  our  constitution  preserves  it 
from  any  redundancy  of  incumbents,  notwithstanding  competitors 
are  numberless.  Upon  a  strict  calculation  it  is  found  that  there 
has  been  a  great  exceeding  of  late  years  in  the  second  division, 
several  brevets  having  been  granted  for  the  converting  of  sub- 
alterns into  scarf -officers ;  insomuch  that  within  my  memory  the 
price  of  lustring  is  raised  above  two-pence  in  a  yard.  As  for  the 
subalterns,  they  are  not  to  be  numbered.  Should  our  clergy  once 
enter  into  the  corrupt  practice  of  the  laity,  by  the  splitting  of  their 
freeholds,  they  would  be  able  to  carry  most  of  the  elections  in 
England. 

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THE    SPECTATOR 

The  body  of  the  law  is  no  less  encumbered  with  superfluous 
members,  that  are  like  Virgil's  army,  which  he  tells  us  was  so 
crowded  many  of  them  had  not  rocm  to  use  their  weapons.  This 
prodigious  society  of  men  may  be  divided  into  the  litigious  and 
peaceable.  Under  the  first  are  comprehended  all  those  who  are 
carried  down  in  coach-fulls  to  Westminster-hall  every  morning  in 
term  time.  Martial's  description  of  this  species  of  lawyers  is  full 
of  humour: 

"Iras  et  verba  locant." 

"Men  that  hire  out  their  words  and  anger;"  that  are  more  or  less 
passionate  according  as  they  are  paid  for  it,  and  allow  their  client  a 
quantity  of  wrath  proportionable  to  the  fee  which  they  receive  from 
him.  I  must,  however,  observe  to  the  reader,  that  above  three 
parts  of  those  whom  I  reckon  among  the  litigious  are  such  as  are 
only  quarrelsome  in  their  hearts,  and  have  no  opportunity  of  shew- 
ing their  passion  at  the  bar.  Nevertheless  as  they  do  not  know 
what  strifes  may  arise,  they  appear  at  the  Hall  every  day,  that  they 
may  shew  themselves  in  a  readiness  to  enter  the  lists,  whenever 
there  shall  be  occasion  for  them. 

The  peaceable  lawyers  are,  hi  the  first  place,  many  of  the 
benchers  of  the  several  inns  of  court,  who  seem  to  be  the  dignitaries 
of  the  law,  and  are  endowed  with  those  qualifications  of  mind  that 
accomplish  a  man  rather  for  a  ruler  than  a  pleader.  These  men 
live  peaceably  in  their  habitations,  eating  once  a  day,  and  dancing 
once  a  year,  for  the  honour  of  their  respective  societies. 

Another  numberless  branch  of  peaceable  lawyers  are  those  young 
men  who,  being  placed  at  the  inns  of  court  in  order  to  study  the 
laws  of  their  country,  frequent  the  play-house  more  than  West- 
minster-hall, and  are  seen  in  all  public  assemblies,  except  in  a  court 
of  justice.  I  shall  say  nothing  of  those  silent  and  busy  multitudes 
that  are  employed  within  doors  in  the  drawing  up  of  writings  and 
conveyances ;  nor  of  those  greater  numbers  that  palliate  their  want 
of  business  with  a  pretence  to  such  chamber  practice. 

If,  in  the  third  place,  we  look  into  the  profession  of  physic,  we 
shall  find  a  most  formidable  body  of  men.  The  sight  of  them  is 
enough  to  make  a  man  serious ;  for  we  may  lay  it  down  as  a  maxim 
that  when  a  nation  abounds  hi  physicians  it  grows  thin  of  people. 
Sir  William  Temple  is  very  much  puzzled  to  find  out  a  reason  why 
the  Northern  Hive,  as  he  calls  it,  does  not  send  out  such  prodigious 

169 


THE   SPECTATOR 

swarms,  and  overrun  the  world  with  Goths  and  Vandals,  as  it  did 
formerly;  but  had  that  excellent  author  observed  that  there  were 
no  students  in  physic  among  the  subjects  of  Thor  and  Woden, 
and  that  this  science  very  much  flourishes  in  the  north  at  present, 
he  might  have  found  a  better  solution  for  this  difficulty  than  any  of 
those  he  has  made  use  of.  This  body  of  men  in  our  own  country 
may  be  described  like  the  British  army  in  Caesar's  time:  some  of 
them  slay  in  chariots,  and  some  on  foot.  If  the  infantry  do  less 
execution  than  the  charioteers,  it  is  because  they  cannot  be  carried 
so  soon  into  all  quarters  of  the  town,  and  despatch  so  much  business 
in  so  short  a  time.  Besides  this  body  of  regular  troops,  there  are 
stragglers  who,  without  being  duly  listed  and  enrolled,  do  infinite 
mischief  to  those  who  are  so  unlucky  as  to  fall  into  their  hands. 

There  are,  besides  the  above-mentioned,  innumerable  retainers 
to  physic  who,  for  want  of  other  patients,  amuse  themselves  with 
the  stifling  of  cats  in  an  air-pump,  cutting  up  dogs  alive,  or  impal- 
ing of  insects  upon  the  point  of  a  needle  for  microscopical  observa- 
tions; besides  those  that  are  employed  in  the  gathering  of  weeds, 
and  the  chase  of  butterflies:  not  to  mention  the  cockleshell-mer- 
chants and  spider-catchers. 

When  I  consider  how  each  of  these  professions  is  crowded  with 
multitudes  that  seek  their  livelihood  in  them,  and  how  many  men 
of  merit  there  are  in  each  of  them  who  may  be  rather  said  to  be  of 
the  science  than  the  profession,  I  very  much  wonder  at  the  humour 
of  parents  who  will  not  rather  choose  to  place  their  sons  in  a  way 
of  life  where  an  honest  industry  cannot  but  thrive,  than  in  stations 
where  the  greatest  probity,  learning,  and  good  sense  may  miscarry. 
How  many  men  are  country  curates  that  might  have  made  them- 
selves aldermen  of  London,  by  a  right  improvement  of  a  smaller 
sum  cf  money  than  what  is  usually  laid  out  upon  a  learned  educa- 
tion ?  A  sober  frugal  person,  of  slender  parts  and  a  slow  apprehen- 
sion, might  have  thrived  in  trade  though  he  starves  upon  physic; 
as  a  man  would  be  well  enough  pleased  to  buy  silks  of  one,  whom 
he  would  not  venture  to  feel  his  pulse.  Vagellius  is  careful,  studi- 
ous, and  obliging,  but  withal  a  little  thick-skulled;  he  has  not  a 
single  client,  but  might  have  had  abundance  of  customers.  The 
misfortune  is,  that  parents  take  a  liking  to  a  particular  profession, 
and  therefore  desire  their  sons  may  be  of  it ;  whereas,  in  so  great  an 
affair  of  life,  they  should  consider  the  genius  and  abilities  of  their 
children  more  than  their  own  inclinations. 

170 


THE   SPECTATOR 

It  is  the  great  advantage  of  a  trading  nation,  that  there  are  very 
few  in  it  so  dull  and  heavy  who  may  not  be  placed  in  stations  of 
life  which  may  give  them  an  opportunity  of  making  their  fortunes. 
A  well-regulated  commerce  is  not,  like  law,  physic,  or  divinity, 
to  be  overstocked  with  hands;  but,  on  the  contrary,  flourishes  by 
multitudes,  and  gives  employment  to  all  its  professors.  Fleets 
of  merchantmen  are  so  many  squadrons  of  floating  shops,  that 
vend  our  wares  and  manufactures  in  all  the  markets  of  the  world, 
and  find  out  chapmen  under  both  the  tropics.  C. 


LETTER   FROM   A  VALETUDINARIAN 

No.  25.]    THURSDAY,  MARCH  29,  1711.    [ADDISON.JJ 

jEgrescitque  medendo. 

VIRG.  /EN.  xii.  46. 

And  sickens  by  the  very  means  of  health. 


T 


I  HE    following   letter   will    explain    itself,    and    needs   no 
apology:  — 


"  SIR,  —  I  am  one  of  that  sickly  tribe  who  are  commonly  known 
by  the  name  of  Valetudinarians ;  and  do  confess  to  you,  that  I  first 
contracted  this  ill  habit  of  body,  or  rather  of  mind,  by  the  study 
of  physic.  I  no  sooner  began  to  peruse  books  of  this  nature,  but 
I  found  my  pulse  was  irregular;  and  scarce  ever  read  the  account 
of  any  disease  that  I  did  not  fancy  myself  afflicted  with.  Dr. 
Sydenham's  learned  treatise  of  fevers  threw  me  into  a  lingering 
hectic,  which  hung  upon  me  all  the  while  I  was  reading  that  excel- 
lent piece.  I  then  applied  myself  to  the  study  of  several  authors, 
who  have  written  upon  phthisical  distempers,  and  by  that  means 
fell  into  a  consumption ;  till  at  length,  growing  very  fat,  I  was  in  a 
manner  shamed  out  of  that  imagination.  Not  long  after  this  I 
found  in  myself  all  the  symptoms  of  the  gout,  except  pain;  but  was 
cured  of  it  by  a  treatise  upon  the  gravel,  written  by  a  very  ingenious 
author,  who  (as  it  is  usual  for  physicians  to  convert  one  distemper 
into  another)  eased  me  of  the  gout  by  giving  me  the  stone.  I  at 

171 


THE    SPECTATOR 

length  studied  myself  into  a  complication  of  distempers;  but  acci- 
dentally taking  into  my  hand  that  ingenious  discourse  written  by 
Sanctorius,  I  was  resolved  to  direct  myself  by  a  scheme  of  rules, 
which  I  had  collected  from  his  observations.  The  learned  world 
are  very  well  acquainted  with  that  gentleman's  invention;  who,  for 
the  better  carrying  on  of  his  experiments,  contrived  a  certain  mathe- 
matical chair,  which  was  so  artificially  hung  upon  springs,  that  it 
would  weigh  anything  as  well  as  a  pair  of  scales.  By  this  means 
he  discovered  how  many  ounces  of  his  food  passed  by  perspiration, 
what  quantity  of  it  was  turned  into  nourishment,  and  how  much 
went  away  by  the  other  channels  and  distributions  of  nature. 

"Having  provided  myself  with  this  chair,  I  used  to  study,  eat, 
drink,  and  sleep  in  it;  insomuch  that  I  may  be  said,  for  these  three 
last  years,  to  have  lived  in  a  pair  of  scales.  I  compute  myself,  when 
I  am  in  full  health,  to  be  precisely  two  hundredweight,  falling  short 
of  it  about  a  pound  after  a  day's  fast,  and  exceeding  it  as  much  after 
a  very  full  meal ;  so  that  it  is  my  continual  employment  to  trim  the 
balance  between  these  two  volatile  pounds  in  my  constitution.  In 
my  ordinary  meals  I  fetch  myself  up  to  two  hundredweight  and 
half  a  pound;  and  if,  after  having  dined,  I  find  myself  fall  short  of 
it,  I  drink  just  so  much  small  beer,  or  eat  such  a  quantity  of  bread, 
as  is  sufficient  to  make  me  weight.  In  my  greatest  excesses  I  do 
not  transgress  more  than  the  other  half-pound;  which,  for  my 
health's  sake,  I  do  the  first  Monday  in  every  month.  As  soon  as  I 
find  myself  duly  poised  after  dinner,  I  walk  till  I  have  perspired 
five  ounces  and  four  scruples;  and  when  I  discover  by  my  chair, 
that  I  am  so  far  reduced,  I  fall  to  my  books,  and  study  away  three 
ounces  more.  As  for  the  remaining  parts  of  the  pound,  I  keep  no 
account  of  them.  I  do  not  dine  and  sup  by  the  clock,  but  by  my 
chair;  for  when  that  informs  me  my  pound  of  food  is  exhausted, 
I  conclude  myself  to  be  hungry,  and  lay  in  another  with  all  dili- 
gence. In  my  days  of  abstinence  I  lose  a  pound  and  a  half,  and  on 
solemn  fasts  am  two  pound  lighter  than  on  other  days  in  the  year. 

"  I  allow  myself,  one  night  with  another,  a  quarter  of  a  pound  of 
sleep,  within  a  few  grains  more  or  less;  and  if,  upon  my  rising,  I 
find  that  I  have  not  consumed  my  whole  quantity,  I  take  out  the 
rest  in  my  chair.  Upon  an  exact  calculation  of  what  I  expended 
and  received  the  last  year,  which  I  always  register  in  a  book,  I  find 
the  medium  to  be  two  hundredweight,  so  that  I  cannot  discover 
that  I  am  impaired  one  ounce  in  my  health  during  a  whole  twelve- 

172 


THE   SPECTATOR 

month.  And  yet,  Sir,  notwithstanding  this  my  great  care  to  ballast 
myself  equally  every  day,  and  to  keep  my  body  in  its  proper  poise, 
so  it  is  that  I  find  myself  in  a  sick  and  languishing  condition.  My 
complexion  is  grown  very  sallow,  my  pulse  low,  and  my  body  hy- 
dropical.  Let  me,  therefore,  beg  you,  Sir,  to  consider  me  as  your 
patient,  and  to  give  me  more  certain  rules  to  walk  by  than  those  I 
have  already  observed,  and  you  will  very  much  oblige, 

Your  humble  Servant." 

This  letter  puts  me  in  mind  of  an  Italian  epitaph,  written  on  the 
monument  of  a  valetudinarian :  "  Stavo  ben,  ma  per  star  meglio,  sto 
qui:"  which  it  is  impossible  to  translate.  The  fear  of  death  often 
proves  mortal,  and  sets  people  on  methods  to  save  their  lives,  which 
infallibly  destroy  them.  This  is  a  reflection  made  by  some  histo- 
rians, upon  observing  that  there  are  many  more  thousands  killed  in 
a  flight  than  in  a  battle;  and  may  be  applied  to  those  multitudes 
of  imaginary  sick  persons  that  break  their  constitutions  by  physic, 
and  throw  themselves  into  the  arms  of  death,  by  endeavouring  to 
escape  it.  This  method  is  not  only  dangerous,  but  below  the  prac- 
tice of  a  reasonable  creature.  To  consult  the  preservation  of  life, 
as  the  only  end  of  it;  to  make  our  health  our  business;  to  engage  in 
no  action  that  is  not  part  of  a  regimen,  or  course  of  physic,  are  pur- 
poses so  abject,  so  mean,  so  unworthy  human  nature,  that  a  gener- 
ous soul  would  rather  die  than  submit  to  them.  Besides,  that  a 
continual  anxiety  for  life  vitiates  all  the  relishes  of  it,  and  casts  a 
gloom  over  the  whole  face  of  nature;  as  it  is  impossible  we  should 
take  delight  in  anything  that  we  are  every  moment  afraid  of  losing. 

I  do  not  mean,  by  what  I  have  here  said,  that  I  think  any  one  to 
blame  for  taking  due  care  of  their  health.  On  the  contrary,  as 
cheerfulness  of  mind  and  capacity  for  business  are  in  a  great  meas- 
ure the  effects  of  a  well-tempered  constitution,  a  man  cannot  be  at 
too  much  pains  to  cultivate  and  preserve  it.  But  this  care,  which 
we  are  prompted  to,  not  only  by  common  sense,  but  by  duty  and 
instinct,  should  never  engage  us  in  groundless  fears,  melancholy 
apprehensions,  and  imaginary  distempers,  which  are  natural  to 
every  man  who  is  more  anxious  to  live  than  how  to  live.  In  short, 
the  preservation  of  life  should  be  only  a  secondary  concern,  and  the 
direction  of  it  our  principal.  If  we  have  this  frame  of  mind,  we 
shall  take  the  best  means  to  preserve  life,  without  being  over  solicit- 
ous about  the  event;  and  shall  arrive  at  that  point  of  felicity  which 

173 


THE    SPECTATOR 

Martial  has  mentioned  as  the  perfection  of  happiness,  of  neither 
fearing  nor  wishing  for  death. 

In  answer  to  the  gentleman,  who  tempers  his  health  by  ounces 
and  by  scruples,  and  instead  of  complying  with  those  natural  solici- 
tations of  hunger  and  thirst,  drowsiness,  or  love  of  exercise,  governs 
himself  by  the  prescriptions  of  his  chair,  I  shall  tell  him  a  short 
fable.  Jupiter,  says  the  mythologist,  to  reward  the  piety  of  a  cer- 
tain countryman,  promised  to  give  him  whatever  he  would  ask. 
The  countryman  desired  that  he  might  have  the  management  of 
the  weather  in  his  own  estate.  He  obtained  his  request;  and  im- 
mediately distributed  rain,  snow,  and  sunshine  among  his  several 
fields,  as  he  thought  the  nature  of  the  soil  required.  At  the  end  of 
the  year,  when  he  expected  to  see  a  more  than  ordinary  crop,  his 
harvest  fell  infinitely  short  of  that  of  his  neighbours.  Upon  which 
(says  the  fable)  he  desired  Jupiter  to  take  the  weather  again  into 
his  own  hands,  or  that  otherwise  he  should  utterly  ruin  himself. 

C. 


REFLECTIONS  IN  WESTMINSTER   ABBEY 
No.  26.]    FRIDAY,  MARCH  30,  1711.    [ADDISON.] 

Pallida  mors  aequo  pulsat  pede  pauperum  tabernas 

Regumque  turres,  O  beate  Sexti. 
Vitae  summa  brevis  spem  nos  vetat  inchoare  longam, 

Jam  te  premet  nox,  fabulaeque  manes, 
Et  domus  exilis  Plutonia.  HOR.  i  Od.  iv.  13. 

With  equal  foot,  rich  friend,  impartial  fate 
Knocks  at  the  cottage,  and  the  palace  gate: 
Life's  Span  forbids  thee  to  extend  thy  cares, 
And  stretch  thy  hopes  beyond  thy  years: 
Night  soon  will  seize,  and  you  must  quickly  go 
To  story'd  ghosts,  and  Pluto's  house  below. 

WHEN  I  am  in  a  serious  humour,  I  very  often  walk  by  myself 
in  Westminster  Abbey;  where  the  gloominess  of  the  place, 
and  the  use  to  which  it  is  applied,  with  the  solemnity  of  the  building, 
and  the  condition  of  the  people  who  lie  in  it,  are  apt  to  fill  the  mind 
with  a  kind  of  melancholy,  or  rather  thoughtfulness,  that  is  not  dis- 
agreeable. I  yesterday  passed  a  whole  afternoon  in  the  churchyard, 

174 


THE    SPECTATOR 

the  cloisters,  and  the  church,  amusing  myself  with  the  tomb-stones 
and  inscriptions  that  I  met  with  in  those  several  regions  of  the  dead. 
Most  of  them  recorded  nothing  else  of  the  buried  person,  but  that 
he  was  born  upon  one  day,  and  died  upon  another:  the  whole  history 
of  his  life  being  comprehended  in  those  two  ci:cumstances  that  are 
common  to  all  mankind.  I  could  not  but  look  upon  these  registers 
of  existence,  whether  of  brass  or  marble,  as  a  kind  of  satire  upon 
the  departed  persons;  who  left  no  other  memorial  of  them,  but 
that  they  were  born,  and  that  they  died.  They  put  me  hi  mind  of 
several  persons  mentioned  in  the  battles  of  heroic  poems,  who  have 
sounding  names  given  them,  for  no  other  reason  but  that  they  may 
be  killed,  and  are  celebrated  for  nothing  but  being  knocked  on  the 
head. 

"  Glaucumque,  Medontaque,  Thersilochumque." 

"Glaucus,  and  Medon,  and  Thersilochus."  — VlRG. 

The  life  of  these  men  is  finely  described  in  holy  writ  by  "the  path 
of  an  arrow,"  which  is  immediately  closed  up  and  lost. 

Upon  my  going  into  the  church,  I  entertained  myself  with  the 
digging  of  a  grave ;  and  saw  in  every  shovel-full  of  it  that  was  thrown 
up,  the  fragment  of  a  bone  or  skull  intermixt  with  a  kind  of  fresh 
mouldering  earth,  that  some  time  or  other  had  a  place  in  the  compo- 
sition of  an  human  body.  Upon  this  I  began  to  consider  with 
myself,  what  innumerable  multitudes  of  people  lay  confused  together 
under  the  pavement  of  that  ancient  cathedral;  how  men  and  women, 
friends  and  enemies,  priests  and  soldiers,  monks  and  prebendaries, 
were  crumbled  amongst  one  another,  and  blended  together  in  the 
same  common  mass ;  how  beauty,  strength,  and  youth,  with  old  age, 
weakness,  and  deformity,  lay  undistinguished  in  the  same  promis- 
cuous heap  of  matter. 

After  having  thus  surveyed  this  great  magazine  of  mortality,  as 
it  were  in  the  lump,  I  examined  it  more  particularly  by  the  accounts 
which  I  found  on  several  of  the  monuments  which  are  raised  in 
every  quarter  of  that  ancient  fabric.  Some  of  them  were  covered 
with  such  extravagant  epitaphs,  that  if  it  were  possible  for  the  dead 
person  to  be  acquainted  with  them,  he  would  blush  at  the  praises 
which  his  friends  have  bestowed  on  him.  There  are  others  so 
excessively  modest,  that  they  deliver  the  character  of  the  person 
departed  in  Greek  or  Hebrew,  and  by  that  means  are  not  understood 
once  in  a  twelvemonth.  In  the  poetical  quarter,  I  found  there  were 

175 


THE   SPECTATOR 

poets  who  had  no  monuments,  and  monuments  which  had  no 
poets.  I  observed,  indeed,  that  the  present  war  had  filled  the 
church  with  many  of  these  uninhabited  monuments,  which  had  been 
erected  to  the  memory  of  persons  whose  bodies  were,  perhaps, 
buried  in  the  plains  of  Blenheim,  or  in  the  bosom  of  the  ocean. 

I  could  not  but  be  very  much  delighted  with  several  modem 
epitaphs,  which  are  written  with  great  elegance  of  expression  and 
justness  of  thought,  and  therefore  do  honour  to  the  living  as  well  as 
to  the  dead.  As  a  foreigner  is  very  apt  to  conceive  an  idea  of  the 
ignorance  or  politeness  of  a  nation  from  the  turn  of  their  public 
monuments  and  inscriptions,  they  should  be  submitted  to  the  perusal 
of  men  of  learning  and  genius  before  they  are  put  in  execution. 
Sir  Cloudesley  Shovel's  monument  has  very  often  given  me  great 
offence.  Instead  of  the  brave,  rough,  English  admiral,  which  was 
the  distinguishing  character  of  that  plain,  gallant  man,  he  is  repre- 
sented on  his  tomb  by  the  figure  of  a  beau,  dressed  in  a  long  periwig, 
and  reposing  himself  upon  velvet  cushions  under  a  canopy  of  state. 
The  inscription  is  answerable  to  the  monument;  for,  instead  of 
celebrating  the  many  remarkable  actions  he  had  performed  in  the 
service  of  his  country,  it  acquaints  us  only  with  the  manner  of  his 
death,  in  which  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  reap  any  honour.  The 
Dutch,  whom  we  are  apt  to  despise  for  want  of  genius,  show  an 
infinitely  greater  taste  of  antiquity  and  politeness  in  their  buildings 
and  works  of  this  nature,  than  what  we  meet  with  in  those  of  our 
own  country.  The  monuments  of  their  admirals,  which  have  been 
erected  at  the  public  expense,  represent  them  like  themselves,  and 
are  adorned  with  rostral  crowns  and  naval  ornaments,  with  beautiful 
festoons  of  sea-weed,  shells,  and  coral. 

But  to  return  to  our  subject.  I  have  left  the  repository  of  our 
English  kings  for  the  contemplation  of  another  day,  when  I  shall 
find  my  mind  disposed  for  so  serious  an  amusement.  I  know  that 
entertainments  of  this  nature  are  apt  to  raise  dark  and  dismal 
thoughts  in  timorous  minds  and  gloomy  imaginations;  but  for  my 
own  part,  though  I  am  always  serious,  I  do  not  know  what  it  is  to 
be  melancholy;  and  can  therefore  take  a  view  of  nature  in  her  deep 
and  solemn  scenes,  with  the  same  pleasure  as  in  her  most  gay  and 
delightful  ones.  By  this  means  I  can  improve  myself  with  those 
objects,  which  others  consider  with  terror.  When  I  look  upon  the 
tombs  of  the  great,  every  emotion  of  envy  dies  in  me;  when  I  read 
the  epitaphs  of  the  beautiful,  every  inordinate  desire  goes  out; 

176 


THE    SPECTATOR 

when  I  meet  with  the  grief  of  parents  upon  a  tomb-stone,  my  heart 
melts  with  compassion :  when  I  see  the  tomb  of  the  parents  them- 
selves, I  consider  the  vanity  of  grieving  for  those  whom  we  must 
quickly  follow.  When  I  see  kings  lying  by  those  who  deposed 
them,  when  I  consider  rival  wits  placed  side  by  side,  or  the  holy 
men  that  divided  the  world  with  their  contests  and  disputes,  I 
reflect  with  sorrow  and  astonishment  on  the  little  competitions, 
factions,  and  debates  of  mankind.  When  I  read  the  several  dates 
of  the  tombs,  of  some  that  died  yesterday,  and  some  six  hundred 
years  ago,  I  consider  that  great  day  when  we  shall  all  of  us  be  con- 
temporaries, and  make  our  appearance  together.  C. 


OFFICE  FOR  THE  REGULATION  OF  SIGNS 

No.  28.]    MONDAY,  APRIL  2,  1711.    [ADDISON.] 

—  Neque  semper  arcum 
Tendit  Apollo. —  HOR. 

I  SHALL  here  present  my  reader  with  a  letter  from  a  projector, 
concerning  a  new  office  which  he  thinks  may  very  much  con- 
tribute to  the  embellishment  of  the  city,  and  to  the  driving  barbarity 
out  of  our  streets.     I  consider  it-  as  a  satire  upon  projectors  in  gen- 
eral, and  a  lively  picture  of  the  whole  art  of  modern  criticism. 

"  SIR,  —  Observing  that  you  have  thoughts  of  creating  certain 
officers  under  you,  for  the  inspection  of  several  petty  enormities 
which  you  yourself  cannot  attend  to;  and  finding  daily  absurdities 
hung  upon  the  sign-posts  of  this  city,  to  the  great  scandal  of  foreign- 
ers, as  well  as  those  of  our  own  country,  who  are  curious  spectators 
of  the  same:  I  do  humbly  propose,  that  you  would  be  pleased  to 
make  me  your  Superintendent  of  all  such  figures  and  devices  as  are 
or  shall  be  made  use  of  on  this  occasion ;  with  full  powers  to  rectify 
or  expunge  whatever  I  shall  find  irregular  or  defective.  For  want 
of  such  an  officer,  there  is  nothing  like  sound  literature  and  good 
sense  to  be  met  with  in  those  objects,  that  are  everywhere  thrusting 
themselves  out  to  the  eye,  and  endeavouring  to  become  visible.  Our 
streets  are  filled  with  blue  boars,  back  swans,  and  red  lions;  not  to 

177 


THE    SPECTATOR 

mention  flying  pigs,  and  hogs  in  armour,  with  many  other  creatures 
more  extraordinary  than  any  in  the  deserts  of  Afric.  Strange! 
that  one  who  has  all  the  birds  and  beasts  in  nature  to  choose  out  of, 
should  live  at  the  sign  of  an  Ens  Rationisl 

"  My  first  task  therefore  should  be,  like  that  of  Hercules,  to  clear 
the  city  from  monsters.  In  the  second  place  I  would  forbid,  that 
creatures  of  jarring  and  incongruous  natures  should  be  joined  to- 
gether in  the  same  sign ;  such  as  the  bell  and  the  neat's-tongue,  the 
dog  and  grid-iron.  The  fox  and  goose  may  be  supposed  to  have 
met;  but  what  has  the  fox  and  the  seven  stars  to  do  together? 
And  when  did  the  lamb  and  dolphin  ever  meet,  except  upon  a  sign- 
post? As  for  the  cat  and  fiddle,  there  is  a  conceit  in  it;  and  there- 
fore I  do  not  intend  that  anything  I  have  here  said  should  affect  it. 
I  must  however  observe  to  you  upon  this  subject,  that  it  is  usual  for 
a  young  tradesman,  at  his  first  setting  up,  to  add  to  his  sign  that  of 
the  master  whom  he  served;  as  the  husband,  after  marriage,  gives 
a  place  to  his  mistress's  arms  in  his  own  coat.  This  I  take  to  have 
given  rise  to  many  of  those  absurdities  which  are  committed  over 
our  heads;  and,  as  I  am  informed,  first  occasioned  the  three  nuns 
and  a  hare,  which  we  see  so  frequently  joined  together.  I  would 
therefore  establish  certain  rules,  for  the  determining  how  far  one 
tradesman  may  give  the  sign  of  another,  and  in  what  cases  he  may  be 
allowed  to  quarter  it  with  his  own. 

"  In  the  third  place,  I  would  enjoin  every  shop  to  make  use  of  a 
sign  which  bears  some  affinity  to  th'e  wares  in  which  it  deals.  What 
can  be  more  inconsistent  than  to  see  a  bawd  at  the  sign  of  the  angel, 
or  a  tailor  at  the  lion  ?  A  cook  should  not  Live  at  the  boot,  nor  a 
shoemaker  at  the  roasted  pig;  and  yet,  for  want  of  this  regulation, 
I  have  seen  a  goat  set  up  before  the  door  of  a  perfumer,  and  the 
French  king's  head  at  a  sword-cutler's. 

"An  ingenious  foreigner  observes,  that  several  of  those  gentle- 
men who  value  themselves  upon  their  families,  and  overlook  such 
as  are  bred  to  trade,  bear  the  tools  of  their  forefathers  in  their  coats 
of  arms.  I  will  not  examine  how  true  this  is  in  fact:  but  though  it 
may  not  be  necessary  for  posterity  thus  to  set  up  the  sign  of  their 
forefathers,  I  think  it  highly  proper  for  those  who  actually  profess 
the  trade,  to  show  some  such  marks  of  it  before  their  doors. 

"  When  the  name  gives  an  occasion  for  an  ingenious  sign-post,  I 
would  likewise  advise  the  owner  to  take  that  opportunity  of  letting 
the  world  know  who  he  is.  It  would  have  been  ridiculous  for  the 

178 


THE   SPECTATOR 

ingenious  Mrs.  Salmon  to  have  lived  at  the  sign  of  the  trout;  for 
which  reason  she  has  erected  before  her  house  the  figure  of  the  fish 
that  is  her  namesake.  Mr.  Bell  has  likewise  distinguished  himself 
by  a  device  of  the  same  nature:  and  here,  sir,  I  must  beg  leave  to 
observe  to  you,  that  this  particular  figure  of  a  bell  has  given  occasion 
to  several  pieces  of  wit  in  this  kind.  A  man  of  your  reading  must 
know  that  Able  Drugger  gained  great  applause  by  it  in  the  time  of 
Ben  Johnson.  Our  apocryphal  heathen  god  is  also  represented 
by  this  figure;  which,  in  conjunction  with  the  dragon,  makes  a  very 
handsome  picture  in  several  of  our  streets.  As  for  the  Bell  Savage, 
which  is  the  sign  of  a  savage  man  standing  by  a  bell,  I  was  formerly 
very  much  puzzled  upon  the  conceit  of  it,  till  I  accidentally  fell  into 
the  reading  of  an  old  romance  translated  out  of  the  French;  which 
gives  an  account  of  a  very  beautiful  woman  who  was  found  in  a 
wilderness,  and  is  called  in  the  French  La  Belle  Sauvage;  and  is 
everywhere  translated  by  our  countrymen  the  Bell  Savage.  This 
piece  of  philology  will,  I  hope,  convince  you  that  I  have  made  sign- 
posts my  study,  and  consequently  qualified  myself  for  the  employ- 
ment which  I  solicit  at  your  hands.  But  before  I  conclude  my 
letter,  I  must  communicate  to  you  another  remark  which  I  have 
made  upon  the  subject  with  which  I  am  now  entertaining  you, 
namely,  that  I  can  give  a  shrewd  guess  at  the  humour  of  the  inhabi- 
tant by  the  sign  that  hangs  before  his  door.  A  surly,  choleric  fellow 
generally  makes  choice  of  a  bear;  as  men  of  milder  dispositions 
frequently  live  at  the  lamb.  Seeing  a  punch-bowl  painted  upon  a 
sign  near  Charing-Cross,  and  very  curiously  garnished,  with  a  couple 
of  angels  hovering  over  it,  and  squeezing  a  lemon  into  it,  I  had  the 
curiosity  to  ask  after  the  master  of  the  house,  and  found  upon  in- 
quiry, as  I  had  guessed  by  the  little  agremens  upon  his  sign,  that 
he  was  a  Frenchman.  I  know,  sir,  it  is  not  requisite  for  me  to  en- 
large upon  these  hints  to  a  gentleman  of  your  great  abih'ties;  so, 
humbly  recommending  myself  to  your  favour  and  patronage, 

"I remain,"  &c 

I  shall  add  to  the  foregoing  letter  another,  which  came  to  me  by 
the  same  penny-post. 

"HONOURED  SIR,  —  Having  heard  that  this  nation  is  a  great 
encourager  of  ingenuity,  I  have  brought  with  me  a  rope-dancer 
that  was  caught  in  ore  of  the  woods  belonging  to  the  Great  Mogul. 

179 


THE   SPECTATOR 

He  is  by  birth  a  monkey;  but  swings  upon  a  rope,  takes  a  pipe  of 
tobacco,  and  drinks  a  glass  of  ale,  like  any  reasonable  creature. 
He  gives  great  satisfaction  to  the  quality;  and  if  they  will  make  a 
subscription  for  him,  I  will  send  for  a  brother  of  his  out  of  Holland 
that  is  a  very  good  tumbler;  and  also  for  another  of  the  same  family, 
whom  I  design  for  my  merry-andrew,  as  being  an  excellent  mimic, 
and  the  greatest  droll  in  the  country  where  he  now  is.  I  hope  to 
have  this  entertainment  in  a  readiness  for  the  next  winter;  and 
doubt  not  but  it  will  please  more  than  the  opera  or  puppet-show. 
I  will  not  say  that  a  monkey  is  a  better  man  than  some  of  the  opera 
heroes ;  but  certainly  he  is  a  better  representative  of  a  man  than  the 
most  artificial  composition  of  wood  and  wire.  If  you  will  be  pleased 
to  give  me  a  good  word  in  your  paper,  you  shall  be  every  night  a 
spectator  at  my  show  for  nothing. 

"lam,"  &c. 


THE   CLUB   OF   SPECTATORS 

No.  34.]    MONDAY,  APRIL  9,  1711.    [ADDISON.] 

parcit 


Cognatis  maculis  similis  fera  — Juv. 

THE  club  of  which  I  am  a  member  is  very  luckily  composed 
of  such  persons  as  are  engaged  in  different  ways  of  life,  and 
deputed  as  it  were  out  of  the  most  conspicuous  classes  of  mankind : 
by  this  means  I  am  furnished  with  the  greatest  variety  of  hints  and 
materials,  and  know  everything  that  passes  in  the  different  quarters 
and  divisions,  not  only  of  this  great  city,  but  of  the  whole  kingdom. 
My  readers,  too,  have  the  satisfaction  to  find,  that  there  is  no  rank 
or  degree  among  them  who  have  not  their  representative  in  this 
club,  and  that  there  is  always  somebody  present  who  will  take  care 
of  their  respective  interests,  that  nothing  may  be  written  or  pub- 
lished to  the  prejudice  or  infringement  of  their  just  rights  and 
privileges. 

I  last  night  sate  very  late  in  company  with  this  select  body  of 
friends,  who  entertained  me  with  several  remarks  which  they  and 
others  had  made  upon  these  my  speculations,  as  also  with  the  vari- 

180 


THE   SPECTATOR 

ous  success  which  they  had  met  with  among  their  several  ranks 
and  degrees  of  readers.  Will.  Honeycomb  told  me,  in  the  softest 
manner  he  could,  that  there  were  some  ladies  (but  for  your  comfort, 
says  Will.,  they  are  not  those  of  the  most  wit)  that  were  offended 
at  the  liberties  I  had  taken  with  the  opera  and  the  puppet-show; 
that  some  of  them  were  likewise  very  much  surprised,  that  I  should 
think  such  serious  points  as  the  dress  and  equipage  of  persons  of 
quality  proper  subjects  for  raillery. 

He  was  going  on,  when  Sir  Andrew  Freeport  took  him  up  short, 
and  told  him,  that  the  papers  he  hinted  at  had  done  great  good  in 
the  city,  and  that  all  their  wives  and  daughters  were  the  better  for 
them:  and  further  added,  that  the  whole  city  thought  themselves 
very  much  obliged  to  me  for  declaring  my  generous  intentions  to 
scourge  vice  and  folly  as  they  appear  in  a  multitude,  without  con- 
descending to  be  a  publisher  of  particular  intrigues  and  cuckoldoms. 
In  short,  says  Sir  Andrew,  if  you  avoid  that  foolish  beaten  road  of 
falling  upon  aldermen  and  citizens,  and  employ  your  pen  upon  the 
vanity  and  luxury  of  courts,  your  paper  must  needs  be  of  general 
use. 

Upon  this  my  friend  the  Templar  told  Sir  Andrew,  That  he  won- 
dered to  hear  a  man  of  his  sense  talk  after  that  manner;  that  the 
city  had  always  been  the  province  for  satire;  and  that  the  wits  of 
King  Charles's  time  jested  upon  nothing  else  during  his  whole 
reign.  He  then  showed,  by  the  examples  of  Horace,  Juvenal, 
Boileau,  and  the  best  writers  of  every  age,  that  the  follies  of  the 
stage  and  court  had  never  been  accounted  too  sacred  for  ridicule, 
how  great  soever  the  persons  might  be  that  patronized  them.  But 
after  all,  says  he,  I  think  your  raillery  has  made  too  great  an  excur- 
sion in  attacking  several  persons  of  the  inns  of  court;  and  I  do  not 
believe  you  can  show  me  any  precedent  for  your  behaviour  in  that 
particular. 

My  good  friend  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley,  who  had  said  nothing 
all  this  while,  began  his  speech  with  a  pish!  and  told  us,  that  he 
wondered  to  see  so  many  men  of  sense  so  very  serious  upon  fooleries. 
Let  our  good  friend,  said  he,  attack  every  one  that  deserves  it:  I 
would  only  advise  you,  Mr.  Spectator,  applying  himself  to  me,  to 
take  care  how  you  meddle  with  country  squires:  they  are  the  orna- 
ments of  the  English  nation;  men  of  good  heads  and  sound 
bodies!  and,  let  me  tell  you,  some  of  them  take  it  ill  of  you,  that 
you  mention  fox-hunters  with  so  little  respect. 

181 


THE    SPECTATOR 

Captain  Sentry  spoke  very  sparingly  on  this  occasion.  What 
he  said  was  only  to  command  my  prudence  in  not  touching  upon 
the  army,  and  advised  me  to  continue  to  act  discreetly  in  that  point. 

By  this  time  I  found  every  subject  of  my  speculations  was  taken 
away  from  me,  by  one  or  other  of  the  club;  and  began  to  think 
myself  in  the  condition  of  the  good  man  that  had  one  wife  who 
took  a  dislike  to  his  grey  hairs,  and  another  to  his  black,  till  by  their 
picking  out  what  each  of  them  had  an  aversion  to,  they  left  his  head 
altogether  bald  and  naked. 

While  I  was  thus  musing  with  myself,  my  worthy  friend  the 
clergyman,  who,  very  luckily  for  me,  was  at  the  club  that  night, 
undertook  my  cause.  He  told  us,  that  he  wondered  any  order 
of  persons  should  think  themselves  too  considerable  to  be  advised : 
that  it  was  not  quality,  but  innocence,  which  exempted  men  from 
reproof:  that  vice  and  folly  ought  to  be  attacked  wherever  they 
could  be  met  with,  and  especially  when  they  were  placed  in  high 
and  conspicuous  stations  of  life.  He  further  added,  that  my  paper 
would  only  serve  to  aggravate  the  pains  of  poverty,  if  it  chiefly 
exposed  those  who  are  already  depressed,  and  in  some  measure 
turned  into  ridicule,  by  the  meanness  of  their  conditions  and  cir- 
cumstances. He  afterwards  proceeded  to  take  notice  of  the  great 
use  this  paper  might  be  of  to  the  public,  by  reprehending  those 
vices  which  are  too  trivial  for  the  chastisement  of  the  law,  and  too 
fantastical  for  the  cognizance  of  the  pulpit.  He  then  advised  me 
to  prosecute  my  undertaking  with  cheerfulness,  and  assured  me, 
that  whoever  might  be  displeased  with  me,  I  should  be  approved 
by  all  those  whose  praises  do  honour  to  the  persons  on  whom  they 
are  bestowed. 

The  whole  club  pays  a  particular  deference  to  the  discourse  of 
this  gentleman,  and  are  drawn  into  what  he  says,  as  much  by  the 
candid,  ingenious  manner  with  which  he  delivers  himself,  as  by  the 
strength  of  argument  and  force  of  reason  which  he  makes  use  of. 
Will.  Honeycomb  immediately  agreed,  that  what  he  had  said  was 
right;  and  that  for  his  part,  he  would  not  insist  upon  the  quarter 
which  he  had  demanded  for  the  ladies.  Sir  Andrew  gave  up  the 
city  with  the  same  frankness.  The  Templar  would  not  stand 
out:  and  was  followed  by  Sir  Roger  and  the  Captain:  who  all 
agreed  that  I  should  be  at  liberty  to  carry  the  war  into  what  quarter 
I  pleased ;  provided  I  continued  to  combat  with  criminals  in  a  body, 
and  to  assault  the  vice  without  hurting  the  person. 

182 


THE   SPECTATOR 

This  debate,  which  was  held  for  the  good  of  mankind,  put  me  in 
mind  of  that  which  the  Roman  triumvirate  were  formerly  engaged 
in,  for  their  destruction.  Every  man  at  first  stood  hard  for  his 
friend,  till  they  found  that  by  this  means  they  should  spoil  their 
proscription:  and  at  length,  making  a  sacrifice  of  all  their  acquain- 
tance and  relations,  furnished  out  a  very  decent  execution. 

Having  thus  taken  my  resolutions  to  march  on  boldly  in  the  cause 
of  virtue  and  good  sense,  and  to  annoy  their  adversaries  in  whatever 
degree  or  rank  of  men  they  may  be  found,  I  shall  be  deaf  for  the 
future  to  all  the  remonstrances  that  shall  be  made  to  me  on  this 
account.  If  Punch  grows  extravagant,  I  shall  reprimand  him  very 
freely:  if  the  stage  becomes  a  nursery  of  felly  and  impertinence,  I 
shall  not  be  afraid  to  animadvert  upon  it.  In  short,  if  I  meet  with 
anything  in  city,  court,  or  country,  that  shocks  modesty  or  good 
manners,  I  shall  use  my  utmost  endeavours  to  make  an  example  of 
it.  I  must,  however,  entreat  every  particular  person,  who  does  me 
the  honour  to  be  a  reader  of  this  paper,  never  to  think  himself,  or 
any  one  of  his  friends  or  enemies,  aimed  at  in  what  is  said:  for  I 
promise  him,  never  to  draw  a  faulty  character  which  does  not  fit 
at  least  a  thousand  people ;  or  to  publish  a  single  paper  that  is  not 
written  in  the  spirit  of  benevolence,  and  with  a  love  to  mankind. 


FALSE   WIT   AND   HUMOUR 

No.  35.]    TUESDAY,  APRIL  10,  1711.    [ADDISON.| 
Risu  inepto  res  ineptior  nulla  est. —  MART. 

AMONG  all  kinds  of  writing,  there  is  none  in  which  authors  are 
more  apt  to  miscarry  than  in  works  of  humour,  as  there  is 
none  in  which  they  are  more  ambitious  to  excel.  It  is  not  an  imag- 
ination that  teems  with  monsters,  an  head  that  is  filled  with  extrava- 
gant conceptions,  which  is  capable  of  furnishing  the  world  with 
diversions  of  this  nature;  and  yet,  if  we  look  into  the  productions  of 
several  writers,  who  set  up  for  men  of  humour,  what  wild  irregular 
fancies,  what  unnatural  distortions  of  thought,  do  we  meet  with? 
If  they  speak  nonsense,  they  believe  they  are  talking  humour;  and 
when  they  have  drawn  together  a  scheme  of  absurd,  inconsistent 

183 


THE   SPECTATOR 

ideas,  they  are  not  able  to  read  it  over  to  themselves  without 
laughing.  These  poor  gentlemen  endeavour  to  gain  themselves 
the  reputation  of  wits  and  humourists,  by  such  monstrous  conceits 
as  almost  qualify  them  for  Bedlam;  not  considering  that  humour 
should  always  lie  under  the  check  of  reason,  and  that  it  requires 
the  direction  of  the  nicest  judgment,  by  so  much  the  more  as  it 
indulges  itself  in  the  most  boundless  freedoms.  There  is  a  kind  of 
nature  that  is  to  be  observed  in  this  sort  of  compositions,  as  well  as 
in  all  other;  and  a  certain  regularity  of  thought  which  must  dis- 
cover the  writer  to  be  a  man  of  sense,  at  the  same  time  that  he 
appears  altogether  given  up  to  caprice.  For  my  part,  when  I  read 
the  delirious  mirth  of  an  unskilful  author,  I  cannot  be  so  barbarous 
as  to  divert  myself  with  it,  but  am  rather  apt  to  pity  the  man,  than 
to  laugh  at  anything  he  writes. 

The  deceased  Mr.  Shadwell,  who  had  himself  a  great  deal  of  the 
talent  which  I  am  treating  of,  represents  an  empty  rake,  in  one  of 
his  plays,  as  very  much  surprised  to  hear  one  say  that  breaking  of 
windows  was  not  humour;  and  I  question  not  but  several  English 
readers  will  be  as  much  startled  to  hear  me  affirm,  that  many  of 
those  raving  incoherent  pieces,  which  are  often  spread  among  us, 
under  odd  chimerical  titles,  are  rather  the  offsprings  of  a  distempered 
brain,  than  works  of  humour. 

It  is  indeed  much  easier  to  describe  what  is  not  humour,  than  what 
is ;  and  very  difficult  to  define  it  otherwise  than  as  Cowley  has  done 
wit,  by  negatives.  Were  I  to  give  my  own  notions  of  it,  I  would 
deliver  them  after  Plato's  manner,  in  a  kind  of  allegory,  and  by 
supposing  Humour  to  be  a  person,  deduce  to  him  all  his  qualifica- 
tions, according  to  the  following  genealogy.  Truth  was  the  founder 
of  the  family,  and  the  father  of  Good  Sense.  Good  Sense  was  the 
father  of  Wit,  who  married  a  lady  of  a  collateral  line,  called  Mirth, 
by  whom  he  had  issue  Humour.  Humour  therefore  being  the 
youngest  of  this  illustrious  family,  and  descended  from  parents  of 
such  different  dispositions,  is  very  various  and  unequal  in  his  temper; 
sometimes  you  see  him  putting  on  grave  looks  and  a  solemn  habit, 
sometimes  airy  hi  his  behaviour,  and  fantastic  in  his  dress :  insomuch 
that  at  different  times  he  appears  as  serious  as  a  judge,  and  as 
jocular  as  a  merry-andrew.  But  as  he  has  a  great  deal  of  the  mother 
in  his  constitution,  whatever  mood  he  is  in,  he  never  fails  to  make 
his  company  laugh. 

But  since  there  is  an  imposter  abroad,  who  takes  upon  him  the 

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name  of  this  young  gentleman,  and  would  willingly  pass  for  him  in 
the  world ;  to  the  end  that  well-meaning  persons  may  not  be  imposed 
upon  by  cheats,  I  would  desire  my  readers,  when  they  meet  with  this 
pretender,  to  look  into  his  parentage,  and  to  examine  him  strictly, 
whether  or  no  he  be  remotely  allied  to  Truth,  and  lineally  descended 
from  Good  Sense;  if  not,  they  may  conclude  him  a  counterfeit. 
They  may  likewise  distinguish  him  by  a  loud  and  excessive  laughter, 
in  which  he  seldom  gets  his  company  to  join  with  him.  For  as 
True  Humour  generally  looks  serious,  while  everybody  laughs 
about  him,  False  Humour  is  always  laughing,  whilst  everybody 
about  him  looks  serious.  I  shall  only  add,  if  he  has  not  in  him  a 
mixture  of  both  parents,  that  is,  if  he  would  pass  for  the  offspring 
of  Wit  without  Mirth,  or  Mirth  without  Wit,  you  may  conclude 
him  to  be  altogether  spurious  and  a  cheat. 

The  imposter  of  whom  I  am  speaking,  descends  originally  from 
Falsehood,  who  was  the  mother  of  Nonsense,  who  was  brought  to 
bed  of  a  son  called  Frenzy,  who  married  one  of  the  daughters  of 
Folly,  commonly  known  by  the  name  of  Laughter,  on  whom  he 
begot  that  monstrous  infant  of  which  I  have  been  here  speaking. 
I  shall  set  down  at  length  the  genealogical  table  of  False  Humour, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  place  under  it  the  genealogy  of  True  Humour, 
that  the  reader  may  at  one  view  behold  their  different  pedigrees  and 
relations. 

FALSEHOOD. 
NONSENSE. 

FRENZY.  —      —  LAUGHTER. 
FALSE  HUMOUR. 

TRUTH. 

GOOD  SENSE. 

WIT.  —      —  MIRTH. 

HUMOUR. 

I  might  extend  the  allegory,  by  mentioning  several  of  the  children 
of  False  Humour,  who  are  more  in  number  than  the  sands  of  the 
sea,  and  might  in  particular  enumerate  the  many  sons  and  daughters 
which  he  has  begot  in  this  island.  But  as  this  would  be  a  very 
invidious  task,  I  shall  only  observe  in  general,  that  False  Humour 
differs  from  the  True  as  a  monkey  does  from  a  man. 

First  of  all,  He  is  exceedingly  given  to  little  apish  tricks  and 
buffooneries. 

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THE   SPECTATOR 

Secondly,  He  so  much  delights  in  mimicry,  that  it  is  all  one  to 
him  whether  he  exposes  by  it  vice  and  folly,  luxury  and  avarice; 
or,  on  the  contrary,  virtue  and  wisdom,  pain  and  poverty. 

Thirdly,  He  is  wonderfully  unlucky,  insomuch  that  he  will  bite 
the  hand  that  feeds  him,  and  endeavour  to  ridicule  both  friends  and 
foes  indifferently.  For  having  but  small  talents,  he  must  be  merry 
where  he  can,  not  where  he  should. 

Fourthly,  Being  entirely  void  of  reason,  he  pursues  no  point 
either  of  morality  or  instruction,  but  is  ludicrous  only  for  the  sake 
of  being  so. 

Fifthly,  Being  incapable  of  anything  but  mock-representations, 
his  ridicule  is  always  personal,  and  aimed  at  the  vicious  man,  or 
the  writer;  not  at  the  vice,  or  at  the  writing. 

I  have  here  only  pointed  at  the  whole  species  of  false  humourists ; 
but  as  one  of  my  principle  designs  in  this  paper  is  to  beat  down  that 
malignant  spirit  which  discovers  itself  in  the  writings  of  the  present 
age,  I  shall  not  scruple,  for  the  future,  to  single  out  any  of  the  small 
wits  that  infest  the  world  with  such  compositions  as  are  ill-natured, 
immoral,  and  absurd.  This  is  the  only  exception  which  I  shall 
make  to  the  general  rule  I  have  prescribed  myself,  of  attacking 
multitudes;  since  every  honest  man  ought  to  look  upon  himself  as 
in  a  natural  state  of  war  with  the  libeller  and  lampooner,  and  to 
annoy  them  wherever  they  fall  in  his  way.  This  is  but  retaliating 
upon  them,  and  treating  them  as  they  treat  others. 


A   LADY'S   LIBRARY 

No.  37.]    THURSDAY,  APRIL  12,  1711.    [ADDISON.] 

—  Non  ilia  colo  calathisve  Minervae 
Fcemineas  assueta  manus. — VntG. 

SOME  months  ago,  my  friend  Sir  Roger,  being  in  the  country, 
enclosed  a  letter  to  me,  directed  to  a  certain  lady  whom  I  shall 
here  call  by  the  name  of  Leonora,  and  as  it  contained  matters  of 
consequence,  desired  me  to  deliver  it  to  her  with  my  own  hand. 
Accordingly  I  waited  upon  her  ladyship  pretty  early  in  the  morning, 
and  was  desired  by  her  women  to  walk  into  her  lady's  library,  till 

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THE   SPECTATOR 

such  time  as  she  was  in  readiness  to  receive  me.  The  very  sound 
of  a  lady's  library  gave  me  a  great  curiosity  to  see  in  it;  and  as  it 
was  some  time  before  the  lady  came  to  me,  I  had  an  opportunity 
of  turning  over  a  great  many  of  her  books,  which  were  ranged 
together  in  a  very  beautiful  order.  At  the  end  of  the  folios  (which 
were  finely  bound  and  gilt)  were  great  jars  of  China  placed  one 
above  another  in  a  very  noble  piece  of  architecture.  The  quartos 
were  separated  from  the  octavos  by  a  pile  of  smaller  vessels,  which 
rose  in  a  delightful  pyramid.  The  octavos  were  bounded  by  tea- 
dishes  of  all  shapes,  colours,  and  sizes,  which  were  so  disposed  on 
a  wooden  frame,  that  they  looked  like  one  continued  pillar  indented 
with  the  finest  strokes  of  sculpture,  and  stained  with  the  greatest 
variety  of  dyes.  That  part  of  the  library  which  was  designed  for 
the  reception  of  plays  and  pamphlets,  and  other  loose  papers,  was 
enclosed  in  a  kind  of  square,  consisting  of  one  of  the  prettiest 
grotesque  works  that  ever  I  saw,  and  made  up  of  scaramouches, 
lions,  monkeys,  mandarines,  trees,  shells,  and  a  thousand  other  odd 
figures  in  China  ware.  In  the  midst  of  the  room  was  a  little  Japan 
table,  with  a  quire  of  gilt  paper  upon  it,  and  on  the  paper  a  silver 
snuff-box  made  in  the  shape  of  a  little  book.  I  found  there  were 
several  counterfeit  books  upon  the  upper  shelves,  which  were 
carved  in  wood,  and  served  only  to  fill  up  the  numbers,  like  fagots 
in  the  muster  of  a  regiment.  I  was  wonderfully  pleased  with  such 
a  mixt  kind  of  furniture,  as  seemed  very  suitable  to  both  the  lady 
and  the  scholar,  and  did  not  know  at  first  whether  I  should  fancy 
myself  in  a  grotto,  or  in  a  library. 

Upon  my  looking  into  the  books,  I  found  there  were  some  few 
which  the  lady  had  bought  for  her  own  use,  but  most  of  them  had 
been  got  together,  either  because  she  had  heard  them  praised,  or 
because  she  had  seen  the  authors  of  them.  Among  several  that  I 
examined  I  very  well  remember  these  that  follow: 

Ogilby's  Virgil. 
Dryden's  Juvenal. 
Cassandra. 
Cleopatra. 
Astraea. 

Sir  Isaac  Newton's  Works. 

The  Grand  Cyrus;  with  a  pin  stuck  in  one  of  the  middle 
leaves. 

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THE    SPECTATOR 

Pembroke's  Arcadia. 

Locke  of  Human  Understanding;  with  a  paper  of  patches 

in  it. 

A  spelling-book. 

A  Dictionary  for  the  explanation  of  hard  words. 
Sherlock  upon  Death. 
The  Fifteen  Comforts  of  Matrimony. 
Sir  William  Temple's  Essays. 
Father   Malbranche's    Search   after   Truth,    translated   into 

English. 

A  Book  of  Novels. 
The  Academy  of  Compliments. 
Culpepper's  Midwifery. 
The  Ladies'  Calling. 
Tales  in  Verse  by  Mr.  Durfey:  bound  in  red  leather,  gilt  on  the 

back,  and  doubled  down  in  several  places. 
All  the  Classic  Authors,  in  wood. 
A  set  of  Elzivir's,  by  the  same  hand. 
Clelia:   which  opened  of  itself  in  the  place  that  describes  two 

lovers  in  a  bower. 
Baker's  Chronicle. 
Advice  to  a  Daughter. 
The  new  Atalantis,  with  a  Key  to  it. 
Mr.  Steele's  Christian  Hero. 
A  Prayer-book;  with  a  bottle  of  Hungary  water  by  the  side 

of  it. 

Dr.  Sacheverell's  Speech. 
Fielding's  Trial. 
Seneca's  Morals. 
Taylor's  holy  Living  and  Dying. 
La  Ferte's  Instructions  for  Country  Dances. 

I  was  taking  a  catalogue  in  my  pocket-book  of  these,  and  several 
other  authors,  when  Leonora  entered,  and,  upon  my  presenting  her 
with  a  letter  from  the  Knight,  told  me,  with  an  unspeakable  grace, 
that  she  hoped  Sir  Roger  was  in  good  health.  I  answered  yes;  for 
I  hate  long  speeches,  and  after  a  bow  or  two  retired. 

Leonora  was  formerly  a  celebrated  beauty,  and  is  still  a  very 
lovely  woman.  She  has  been  a  widow  for  two  or  three  years,  and 
being  unfortunate  in  her  first  marriage,  has  taken  a  resolution 

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THE   SPECTATOR 

never  to  venture  upon  a  second.  She  has  no  children  to  take  care 
of,  and  leaves  the  management  of  her  estate  to  my  good  friend  Sir 
Roger.  But  as  the  mind  naturally  sinks  into  a  kind  of  lethargy 
and  falls  asleep,  that  is  not  agitated  by  some  favourite  pleasures 
and  pursuits,  Leonora  has  turned  all  the  passions  of  her  sex  into  a 
love  of  books  and  retirement.  She  converses  chiefly  with  men, 
as  she  has  often  said  herself,)  but  it  is  only  in  their  writings ;  and 
admits  of  very  few  male- visitants,  except  my  friend  Sir  Roger, 
whom  she  hears  with  great  pleasure,  and  without  scandal.  As 
her  reading  has  lain  very  much  among  romances,  it  has  given  her  a 
very  particular  turn  of  thinking,  and  discovers  itself  even  in  her 
house,  her  gardens,  and  her  furniture.  Sir  Roger  has  entertained  me 
an  hour  together  with  a  description  of  her  country  seat,  which  is 
situated  in  a  kind  of  wilderness,  about  an  hundred  miles  distant 
from  London,  and  looks  like  a  little  enchanted  palace.  The  rocks 
about  her  are  shaped  into  artificial  grottoes,  covered  with  woodbines 
and  jessamines.  The  woods  are  cut  into  shady  walks,  twisted 
into  bowers,  and  filled  with  cages  of  turtles.  The  springs  are  made 
to  run  among  pebbles,  and  by  that  means  taught  to  murmur  very 
agreeably.  They  are  likewise  collected  into  a  beautiful  lake,  that 
is  inhabited  by  a  couple  of  swans,  and  empties  itself  by  a  little 
rivulet  which  runs  through  a  green  meadow,  and  is  known  in  the 
family  by  the  name  of  The  Purling  Stream.  The  Knight  likewise 
tells  me,  that  this  lady  preserves  her  game  better  than  any  of  the 
gentlemen  in  the  country.  "  Not  (says  Sir  Roger)  that  she  sets  so 
great  a  value  upon  her  partridges  and  pheasants,  as  upon  her  larks 
and  nightingales.  For  she  says  that  every  bird  which  is  killed  in 
her  ground,  will  spoil  a  concert,  and  that  she  shall  certainly  miss 
him  the  next  year." 

When  I  think  how  oddly  this  lady  is  improved  by  learning,  I 
look  upon  her  with  a  mixture  of  admiration  and  pity.  Amidst 
these  innocent  entertainments  which  she  has  formed  to  herself, 
how  much  more  valuable  does  she  appear  than  those  of  her  sex 
who  employ  themselves  in  diversions  that  are  less  reasonable, 
though  more  in  fashion!  What  improvements  would  a  woman 
have  made,  who  is  so  susceptible  of  impressions  from  what  she 
reads,  had  she  been  guided  to  such  books  as  have  a  tendency  to 
enlighten  the  understanding  and  rectify  the  passions,  as  well  as 
to  those  which  are  of  little  more  use  than  to  divert  the  imagination ! 

But  the  manner  of  a  lady's  employing  herself  usefully  in  reading 

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THE    SPECTATOR 

shall  be  the  subject  of  another  paper,  in  which  I  design  to  recom- 
mend such  part  icular  books  as  may  be  proper  for  the  improvement 
of  the  sex.  And  as  this  is  a  subject  of  a  very  nice  nature,  I  shall 
desire  my  correspondents  to  give  me  their  thoughts  upon  it. 


FRENCH    FASHIONS 
No.  45.]    SATURDAY,  APRIL  21,  1711.    [ADDISON.] 

Natio  Comceda  est  —  Juv. 

THERE  is  nothing  which  I  more  desire  than  a  safe  and  honour- 
able peace,  though  at  the  same  time  I  am  very  apprehensive 
of  many  ill  consequences  that  may  attend  it.  I  do  not  mean  in 
regard  to  our  politics,  but  to  our  manners.  What  an  inundation  of 
ribbons  and  brocades  will  break  in  upon  us !  what  peals  of  laughter 
and  impertinence  shall  we  be  exposed  to!  For  the  prevention  of 
these  great  evils,  I  could  heartily  wish  that  there  was  an  act  of  parlia- 
ment for  prohibiting  the  importation  of  French  fopperies. 

The  female  inhabitants  of  our  island  have  already  received  very 
strong  impressions  from  this  ludicrous  nation,  though  by  the  length 
of  the  war  (as  there  is  no  evil  which  has  not  some  good  attending  it) 
they  are  pretty  well  worn  out  and  forgotten.  I  remember  the  time 
when  some  of  our  well-bred  country-women  kept  their  valet  de 
chambre,  because,  forsooth,  a  man  was  much  more  handy  about 
them  than  one  of  their  own  sex.  I  myself  have  seen  one  of  these 
male  Abigails  tripping  about  the  room  with  a  looking-glass  in  his 
hand,  and  combing  his  lady's  hair  a  whole  morning  together. 
Whether  or  no  there  was  any  truth  in  the  story  of  a  lady's  being  got 
with  child  by  one  of  these  her  handmaids,  I  cannot  tell ;  but  I  think 
at  present  the  whole  race  of  them  is  extinct  in  our  own  country. 

About  the  time  that  several  of  our  sex  were  taken  into  this  kind  of 
service,  the  ladies  likewise  brought  up  the  fashion  of  receiving  visits 
in  their  beds.  It  was  then  looked  upon  as  a  piece  of  ill-breeding 
for  a  woman  to  refuse  to  see  a  man  because  she  was  not  stirring; 
and  a  porter  would  have  been  thought  unfit  for  his  place,  that  could 
have  made  so  awkward  an  excuse.  As  I  love  to  see  everything  that 

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THE    SPECTATOR 

is  new,  I  once  prevailed  upon  my  friend  Will.  Honeycomb  to  carry 
me  along  with  him  to  one  of  these  travelled  ladies,  desiring  him,  at 
the  same  time,  to  present  me  as  a  foreigner  who  could  not  speak 
English,  that  so  I  might  not  be  obliged  to  bear  a  part  in  the  discourse. 
The  lady,  though  willing  to  appear  undrest,  had  put  on  her  best 
looks,  and  painted  herself  for  our  reception.  Her  hair  appeared  in 
a  very  nice  disorder,  as  the  night-gown  which  was  thrown  upon  her 
shoulders  was  ruffled  with  great  care.  For  my  part,  I  am  so 
shocked  with  everything  which  looks  immodest  in  the  fair  sex,  that 
I  could  not  forbear  taking  off  my  eye  from  her  when  she  moved  in 
her  bed,  and  was  in  the  greatest  confusion  imaginable  every  time 
she  stirred  a  leg  or  an  arm.  As  the  coquets,  who  introduced  this 
custom,  grew  old,  they  left  it  off  by  degrees;  well  knowing  that  a 
woman  of  threescore  may  kick  and  tumble  her  heart  out,  without 
making  any  impressions. 

Sempronia  is  at  present  the  most  profest  admirer  of  the  French 
nation,  but  is  so  modest  as  to  admit  her  visitants  no  further  than 
her  toilet.  It  is  a  very  odd  sight  that  beautiful  creature  makes, 
when  she  is  talking  politics  with  her  tresses  flowing  about  her  shoul- 
ders, and  examining  that  face  in  the  glass,  which  does  such  execu- 
tion upon  all  the  male  standers-by.  How  prettily  does  she  divide 
her  discourse  between  her  woman  and  her  visitants!  What 
sprightly  transitions  dees  she  make  from  an  opera  or  a  sermon,  to  an 
ivory  comb  or  a  pincushion !  How  have  I  been  pleased  to  see  her 
interrupted  in  an  account  of  her  travels  by  a  message  to  her  foot- 
man! and  holding  her  tongue  in  the  midst  of  a  moral  reflection  by 
applying  the  tip  of  it  to  a  patch! 

There  is  nothing  which  exposes  a  woman  to  greater  dangers, 
than  that  gaiety  and  airiness  of  temper,  which  are  natural  to  most  of 
the  sex.  It  should  be  therefore  the  concern  of  every  wise  and  vir- 
tuous woman,  to  keep  this  sprightliness  from  degenerating  into 
levity.  On  the  contrary,  the  whole  discourse  and  behaviour  of  the 
French  is  to  make  the  sex  more  fantastical,  or  (as  they  are  pleased 
to  term  it)  more  awakened,  than  is  consistent  either  with  virtue  or 
discretion.  To  speak  loud  in  public  assemblies,  to  let  every  one  hear 
you  talk  of  things  that  should  only  be  mentioned  in  private,  or  in 
whisper,  are  looked  upon  as  parts  of  a  refined  education.  At  the 
same  time,  a  blush  is  unfashionable,  and  silence  more  ill-bred  than 
anything  that  can  be  spoken.  In  short,  discretion  and  modesty, 
which  in  all  other  ages  and  countries  have  been  regarded  as  the 

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THE   SPECTATOR 

greatest  ornaments  of  the  fair  sex,  are  considered  as  the  ingredients 
of  narrow  conversation  and  family  behaviour. 

Some  years  ago  I  was  at  the  tragedy  of  Macbeth,  and  unfortu- 
nately placed  myself  under  a  woman  of  quality  that  is  since  dead; 
who,  as  I  found  by  the  noise  she  made,  was  newly  returned  from 
France.  A  little  before  the  rising  of  the  curtain,  she  broke  out  into 
a  loud  soliloquy,  "  When  will  the  dear  witches  enter  ?  "  and  immedi- 
ately upon  their  first  appearance,  asked  a  lady  that  sat  three  boxes 
from  her,  on  her  right  hand,  if  those  witches  were  not  charming 
creatures.  A  little  after,  as  Betterton  was  in  one  of  the  finest 
speeches  of  the  play,  she  shook  her  fan  at  another  lady,  who  sat  as 
far  on  the  left  hand,  and  told  her  with  a  whisper,  that  might  be  heard 
all  over  the  pit,  we  must  not  expect  to  see  Balloon  to-night.  Not 
long  after,  calling  out  to  a  young  baronet  by  his  name,  who  sat 
three  seats  before  me,  she  asked  him  whether  Macbeth's  wife  was 
still  alive ;  and  before  he  could  give  an  answer,  fell  a  talking  of  the 
ghost  of  Banquo.  She  had  by  this  time  formed  a  little  audience  to 
herself,  and  fixed  the  attention  of  all  about  her.  But  as  I  had  a 
mind  to  hear  the  play,  I  got  out  of  the  sphere  of  her  impertinence, 
and  planted  myself  in  one  of  the  remotest  corners  of  the  pit. 

This  pretty  childishness  of  behaviour  is  one  of  the  most  refined 
parts  of  coquetry,  and  is  not  to  be  attained  in  perfection  by  ladies 
that  do  not  travel  for  their  improvement.  A  natural  and  uncon- 
strained behaviour  has  something  in  it  so  agreeable,  that  it  is  no 
wonder  to  see  people  endeavouring  after  it.  But  at  the  same  time, 
it  is  so  very  hard  to  hit,  when  it  is  not  born  with  us,  that  people 
often  make  themselves  ridiculous  in  attempting  it. 

A  very  ingenious  French  author  tells  us,  that  the  ladies  of  the 
court  of  France,  in  his  time,  thought  it  ill-breeding,  and  a  kind  of 
female  pedantry,  to  pronounce  an  hard  word  right;  for  which 
reason  they  took  frequent  occasion  to  use  hard  words,  that  they 
might  show  a  politeness  in  murdering  them.  He  further  adds, 
that  a  lady  of  some  quality  at  court,  having  accidentally  made  use 
of  an  hard  word  in  a  proper  place,  and  pronounced  it  right,  the 
whole  assembly  was  out  of  countenance  for  her. 

I  must,  however,  be  so  just  to  own,  that  there  are  many  ladies 
who  have  travelled  several  thousands  of  miles  without  being  the 
worse  for  it,  and  have  brought  home  with  them  all  the  modesty, 
discretion,  and  good  sense,  that  they  went  abroad  with.  As,  on 
the  contrary,  there  are  great  numbers  of  travelled  ladies,  who  have 

192 


THE   SPECTATOR 

lived  all  their  days,  within  the  smoke  of  London.  I  have  known 
a  woman  that  never  was  out  of  the  parish  of  St.  James's  betray 
as  many  foreign  fopperies  in  her  carriage,  as  she  could  have  gleaned 
up  in  half  the  countries  of  Europe. 


THE   COFFEE-HOUSE 

No.  49.]    THURSDAY,  APRIL  26,  1711.    [STEELE.] 

Hominem  pagina  nostra  sapit.  — MART. 

Men  and  their  manners  I  describe. 

IT  is  very  natural  for  a  man  who  is  not  turned  for  mirthful 
meetings  of  men,  or  assemblies  of  the  fair  sex,  to  delight  hi 
that  sort  of  conversation  which  we  find  in  coffee-houses.  Here 
a  man  of  my  temper  is  in  his  element;  for,  if  he  cannot  talk,  he  can 
still  be  more  agreeable  to  his  company,  as  well  as  pleased  in  him- 
self, hi  being  only  a  hearer.  It  is  a  secret  known  but  to  few,  yet 
of  no  small  use  in  the  conduct  of  life,  that  when  you  fall  into  a  man's 
conversation,  the  first  thing  you  should  consider  is,  whether  he 
has  a  greater  inclination  to  hear  you,  or  that  you  should  hear  him. 
The  latter  is  the  more  general  desire,  and  I  know  very  able  flatterers 
that  never  speak  a  word  in  praise  of  the  persons  from  whom  they 
obtain  daily  favours,  but  still  practise  a  skilful  attention  to  what- 
ever is  uttered  by  those  with  whom  they  converse.  We  are  very 
curious  to  observe  the  behaviour  of  great  men  and  their  clients; 
but  the  same  passions  and  interests  move  men  in  lower  spheres; 
and  I  (that  have  nothing  else  to  do  but  make  observations)  see  in 
every  parish,  street,  lane,  and  alley  of  this  populous  city,  a  little 
potentate  that  has  his  court  and  his  flatterers,  who  lay  snares  for 
his  affection  and  favour,  by  the  same  arts  that  are  practised  upon 
men  in  higher  stations. 

In  the  place  I  most  usually  frequent,  men  differ  rather  in  the 
time  of  day  in  which  they  make  a  figure,  than  in  any  real  greatness 
above  one  another.  I,  who  am  at  the  coffee-house  at  six  in  the 
morning,  know  that  my  friend  Beaver,  the  haberdasher,  has  a 
levee  of  more  undissembled  friends  and  admirers  than  most  of  the 

193 


THE   SPECTATOR 

courtiers  or  generals  of  Great  Britain.  Every  man  about  him  has, 
perhaps,  a  newspaper  in  his  hand ;  but  none  can  pretend  to  guess 
what  step  will  be  taken  in  any  one  court  of  Europe  till  Mr.  Beaver 
has  thrown  down  his  pipe,  and  declares  what  measures  the  allies 
must  enter  into  upon  this  new  posture  of  affairs.  Our  coffee-house 
is  near  one  of  the  inns  of  court,  and  Beaver  has  the  audience  and 
admiration  of  his  neighbours  from  six  till  within  a  quarter  of  eight, 
at  which  time  he  is  interrupted  by  the  students  of  the  house;  some 
of  whom  are  ready  dressed  for  Westminster  at  eight  in  a  morning, 
with  faces  as  busy  as  if  they  were  retained  in  every  cause  there ;  and 
others  come  in  their  night-gowns  to  saunter  away  their  time  as  if 
they  never  designed  to  go  thither.  I  do  not  know  that  I  meet 
in  any  of  my  walks,  objects  which  move  both  my  spleen  and  laughter 
so  effectually  as  those  young  fellows  at  the  Grecian,  Squire's, 
Searle's,  and  all  other  coffee-houses  adjacent  to  the  law,  who  rise 
early  for  no  other  purpose  but  to  publish  their  laziness.  One  would 
think  that  these  young  virtuosos  take  a  gay  cap  and  slippers,  with 
a  scarf  and  party-coloured  gown,  to  be  ensigns  of  dignity;  for  the 
vain  things  approach  each  other  with  an  air  which  shows  they 
regard  one  another  for  their  vestments.  I  have  observed  that  the 
superiority  among  these  proceeds  from  an  opinion  of  gallantry 
and  fashion.  The  gentleman  in  the  strawberry  sash,  who  presides 
so  much  over  the  rest,  has,  it  seems,  subscribed  to  every  opera  this 
last  winter,  and  is  supposed  to  receive  favours  from  one  of  the 
actresses. 

When  the  day  grows  too  busy  for  these  gentlemen  to  enjoy  any 
longer  the  pleasures  of  their  deshabille,  with  any  manner  of  confi- 
dence, they  give  place  to  men  who  have  business  or  good  sense  in 
their  faces,  and  come  to  the  coffee-house  either  to  transact  affairs, 
or  enjoy  conversation.  The  persons  to  whose  behaviour  and  dis- 
course I  have  most  regard,  are  such  as  are  between  these  two  sorts 
of  men;  such  as  have  not  spirits  too  active  to  be  happy,  and  well 
pleased  in  a  private  condition ;  nor  complexions  too  warm  to  make 
them  neglect  the  duties  and  relations  of  life.  Of  these  sort  of  men 
consist  the  worthier  part  of  mankind ;  of  these  are  all  good  fathers, 
generous  brothers,  sincere  friends,  and  faithful  subjects.  Their 
entertainments  are  derived  rather  from  reason  than  imagination; 
which  is  the  cause  that  there  is  no  impatience  or  instability  in  their 
speech  or  action.  You  see  in  their  countenances  they  are  at  home, 
and  in  quiet  possession  of  the  present  instant  as  it  passes,  without 

194 


THE    SPECTATOR 

desiring  to  quicken  it  by  gratifying  any  passion,  or  prosecuting  any 
new  design.  These  are  the  men  formed  for  society,  and  those 
little  communities  which  we  express  by  the  word  neighbourhoods. 

The  coffee-house  is  the  place  of  rendezvous  to  all  that  live  near  it, 
who  are  thus  turned  to  relish  calm  and  ordinary  life.  Eubulus  pre- 
sides over  the  middle  hours  of  the  day,  when  this  assembly  of  men 
meet  together.  He  enjoys  a  great  fortune  handsomely,  without 
launching  into  expense;  and  exerts  many  noble  and  useful  qualities, 
without  appearing  in  any  public  employment.  His  wisdom  and 
knowledge  are  serviceable  to  all  that  think  fit  to  make  use  of  them ; 
and  he  does  the  office  of  a  counsel,  a  judge,  an  executor,  and  a 
friend  to  all  his  acquaintance,  not  only  without  the  profits  which 
attend  such  offices,  but  also  without  the  deference  and  homage 
which  are  usually  paid  to  them.  The  giving  of  thanks  is  displeas- 
ing to  him.  The  greatest  gratitude  you  can  show  him,  is  to  let  him 
see  you  are  the  better  man  for  his  services;  and  that  you  are  as 
ready  to  oblige  others,  as  he  is  to  oblige  you. 

In  the  private  exigencies  of  his  friends  he  lends,  at  legal  value, 
considerable  sums,  which  he  might  highly  increase  by  rolling  in  the 
public  stocks.  He  does  not  consider  in  whose  hands  his  money 
will  improve  most,  but  where  it  will  do  most  good. 

Eubulus  has  so  great  an  authority  in  his  little  diurnal  audience, 
that  when  he  shakes  his  head  at  any  piece  of  public  news,  they  all  of 
them  appear  dejected;  and,  on  the  contrary,  go  home  to  their  din- 
ners with  a  good  stomach  and  cheerful  aspect  when  Eubulus  seems 
to  intimate  that  things  go  well.  Nay,  their  veneration  towards  him 
is  so  great,  that  when  they  are  in  other  company  they  speak  and  act 
after  him ;  are  wise  in  his  sentences,  and  are  no  sooner  sat  down  at 
their  own  tables,  but  they  hope  or  fear,  rejoice  or  despond,  as  they 
saw  him  do  at  the  coffee-house.  In  a  word,  every  man  is  Eubulus 
as  soon  as  his  back  is  turned. 

Having  here  given  an  account  of  the  several  reigns  that  succeed 
each  other  from  daybreak  till  dinner-time,  I  shall  mention  the  mon- 
archs  of  the  afternoon  on  another  occasion,  and  shut  up  the  whole 
series  of  them  with  the  history  of  Tom  the  Tyrant;  who,  as  first 
minister  of  the  coffee-house,  takes  the  government  upon  him  be- 
tween the  hours  of  eleven  and  twelve  at  night,  and  gives  his  orders 
in  the  most  arbitrary  manner  to  the  servants  below  him,  as  to  the 
disposition  of  liquors,  coal,  and  cinders.  R. 


195 


THE   SPECTATOR 


THE  ROYAL  EXCHANGE 

No.  69.]    SATURDAY,  MAY  19,  1711.    [ADDISON.] 

Hie  segetes,  illic  veniunt  felicius  uvae: 
Arborei  foetus  alibi,  atque  injussa  virescunt 
Gramina.     Nonne  vides,  croceos  ut  Tmolus  odores, 
India  mittit  ebur,  molles  sua  thura  Sabsei  ? 
At  Chalybes  nudi  ferrum,  virosaque  Pontus 
Castorea,  Eliadum  palmas  Epirus  equarum? 
Continue  has  leges  aeternaque  foedera  certis 
Imposuit  natura  locis  — 

VIRG.  Georg.  i.  54. 

This  ground  with  Bacchus,  that  with  Ceres  suits; 
That  other  loads  the  trees  with  happy  fruits; 
A  fourth  with  grass,  unbidden,  decks  the  ground: 
Thus  Tmolus  is  with  yellow  saffron  crown 'd; 
India  black  ebon  and  white  iv'ry  bears; 
And  soft  Idume  weeps  her  od'rous  tears: 
Thus  Pontus  sends  her  beaver  stones  from  far; 
And  naked  Spaniards  temper  steel  for  war: 
Epirus  for  th'  Elean  chariot  breeds 
(In  hopes  of  palms)  a  race  of  running  steeds. 
This  is  th'  original  contract;  these  the  laws 
Impos'd  by  nature,  and  by  nature's  cause. 

DRYDEN. 

THERE  is  no  place  in  the  town  which  I  so  much  love  to  frequent 
as  the  Royal  Exchange.  It  gives  me  a  secret  satisfaction,  and 
in  some  measure  gratifies  my  vanity,  as  I  am  an  Englishman,  to  see  so 
rich  an  assembly  of  countrymen  and  foreigners  consulting  together 
upon  the  private  business  of  mankind,  and  making  this  metropolis 
a  kind  of  emporium  for  the  whole  earth.  I  must  confess  I  look  upon 
high-change  to  be  a  great  council,  in  which  all  considerable  nations 
have  their  representatives.  Factors  in  the  trading  world  are  what 
ambassadors  are  in  the  politic  world:  they  negotiate  affairs,  con- 
clude treaties,  and  maintain  a  good  correspondence  between  those 
wealthy  societies  of  men  that  are  divided  from  one  another  by  seas 
and  oceans,  or  live  on  the  different  extremities  of  a  continent.  I 
have  often  been  pleased  to  hear  disputes  adjusted  between  an  in- 
habitant of  Japan  and  an  alderman  of  London,  or  to  see  a  subject 

196 


THE    SPECTATOR 

of  the  Great  Mogul  entering  into  a  league  with  one  of  the  Czar  of 
Muscovy.  I  am  infinitely  delighted  in  mixing  with  these  several 
ministers  of  commerce,  as  they  are  distinguished  by  their  different 
walks  and  different  languages.  Sometimes  I  am  jostled  among  a 
body  of  Armenians;  sometimes  I  am  lost  in  a  crowd  of  Jews;  and 
sometimes  make  one  in  a  groupe  of  Dutchmen.  I  am  a  Dane, 
Swede,  or  Frenchman  at  different  times;  or  rather  fancy  myself  like 
the  old  philosopher,  who,  upon  being  asked  what  countryman  he 
was,  replied,  that  he  was  a  citizen  of  the  world. 

Though  I  very  frequently  visit  this  busy  multitude  of  people,  I 
am  known  to  nobody  there  but  my  friend  Sir  Andrew,  who  often 
smiles  upon  me  as  he  sees  me  bustling  in  the  crowd,  but  at  the  same 
time  connives  at  my  presence  without  taking  any  farther  notice  of 
me.  There  is,  indeed,  a  merchant  of  Egypt,  who  just  knows  me 
by  sight,  having  formerly  remitted  me  some  money  to  Grand  Cairo; 
but  as  I  am  not  versed  hi  the  modern  Coptic,  our  conferences  go 
no  farther  than  a  bow  and  a  grimace. 

This  grand  scene  of  business  gives  me  an  infinite  variety  of  solid 
and  substantial  entertainments.  As  I  am  a  great  lover  of  mankind, 
my  heart  naturally  overflows  with  pleasure  at  the  sight  of  a  pros- 
perous and  happy  multitude,  insomuch  that  at  many  public  calami- 
ties I  cannot  forbear  expressing  my  joy  with  tears  that  have  stolen 
down  my  cheeks.  For  this  reason  I  am  wonderfully  delighted  to 
see  such  a  body  of  men  thriving  in  their  own  private  fortunes,  and 
at  the  same  time  promoting  the  public  stock;  or,  hi  other  words, 
raising  estates  for  their  own  families,  by  bringing  into  their  country 
whatever  is  wanting,  and  carrying  out  of  it  whatever  is  superfluous. 

Nature  seems  to  have  taken  a  particular  care  to  disseminate 
her  blessings  among  the  different  regions  of  the  world,  with  an 
eye  to  this  mutual  intercourse  and  traffic  among  mankind,  that 
the  natives  of  the  several  parts  of  the  globe  might  have  a  kind  of 
dependence  upon  one  another,  and  be  united  together  by  their 
common  interest.  Almost  every  degree  produces  something  pecu- 
liar to  it.  The  food  often  grows  in  one  country,  and  the  sauce  in 
another.  The  fruits  of  Portugal  are  corrected  by  the  products  of 
Barbadoes,  and  the  infusion  of  a  China  plant  is  sweetened  by  the 
pith  of  an  Indian  cane.  The  Philippic  islands  give  a  flavour  to 
our  European  bowls.  The  single  dress  of  a  woman  of  quality  is 
often  the  product  of  a  hundred  climates.  The  muff  and  the  fan 
come  together  from  the  different  ends  of  the  earth.  The  scarf 

197 


THE   SPECTATOR 

is  sent  from  the  torrid  zone,  and  the  tippet  from  beneath  the  pole. 
The  brocade  petticoat  rises  out  of  the  mines  of  Peru,  and  the 
diamond  necklace  but  of  the  bowels  of  Indostan. 

If  we  consider  our  own  country  in  its  natural  prospect,  without 
any  of  the  benefits  and  advantages  of  commerce,  what  a  barren, 
uncomfortable  spot  of  earth  falls  to  our  share !  Natural  historians 
tell  us,that  no  fruit  grows  originally  among  us  besides  hips  and  haws, 
acorns,  and  pig-nuts,  with  other  delicacies  of  the  like  nature;  that 
our  climate,  of  itself,  and  without  the  assistance  of  art,  can  make 
no  farther  advances  towards  a  plum  than  to  a  sloe,  and  carries  an 
apple  to  no  greater  perfection  than  a  crab;  that  our  melons,  our 
peaches,  our  figs,  our  apricots,  and  cherries,  are  strangers  among 
us,  imported  in  different  ages,  and  naturalized  in  our  English 
gardens;  and  that  they  would  all  degenerate  and  fall  away  into 
the  trash  of  our  own  country,  if  they  were  wholly  neglected  by  the 
planter,  and  left  to  the  mercy  of  our  sun  and  soil.  Nor  has  traffic 
more  enriched  our  vegetable  world,  than  it  has  improved  the  whole 
face  of  nature  among  us.  Our  ships  are  laden  with  the  harvest 
of  every  climate.  Our  tables  are  stored  with  spices,  and  oils,  and 
wines.  Our  rooms  are  filled  with  pyramids  of  China,  and  adorned 
with  the  workmanship  of  Japan.  Our  morning's  draught  comes 
to  us  from  the  remotest  corners  of  the  earth.  We  repair  our  bodies 
by  the  drugs  of  America,  and  repose  ourselves  under  Indian  canopies. 
My  friend  Sir  Andrew  calls  the  vineyards  of  France  our  gardens; 
the  spice-islands,  our  hot-beds;  the  Persians,  our  silk-weavers; 
and  the  Chinese,  our  potters.  Nature,  indeed,  furnishes  us  with 
the  bare  necessaries  of  life,  but  traffic  gives  us  a  great  variety  of 
what  is  useful,  and  at  the  same  time  supplies  us  with  everything 
that  is  convenient  and  ornamental.  Nor  is  it  the  least  part  of  this 
our  happiness,  that  whilst  we  enjoy  the  remotest  products  of  the 
North  and  South,  we  are  free  from  those  extremities  of  weather 
which  give  them  birth;  that  our  eyes  are  refreshed  with  the  green 
fields  of  Britain,  at  the  same  time  that  our  palates  are  feasted  with 
fruits  that  rise  between  the  tropics. 

For  these  reasons,  there  are  not  more  useful  members  in  a  com- 
monwealth than  merchants.  They  knit  mankind  together  in  a 
mutual  intercourse  of  good  offices,  distribute  the  gifts  of  nature, 
find  work  for  the  poor,  add  wealth  to  the  rich,  and  magnificence 
to  the  great.  Our  English  merchant  converts  the  tin  of  his  own 
country  into  gold,  and  exchanges  his  wool  for  rubies.  The  Ma- 

198 


THE    SPECTATOR 

hometans  are  clothed  in  our  British  manufacture,  and  the  inhabi- 
tants of  the  frozen  zone  warmed  with  the  fleeces  of  our  sheep. 

When  I  have  been  upon  the  'Change,  I  have  often  fancied  one 
of  our  old  kings  standing  in  person  where  he  is  represented  in 
effigy,  and  looking  down  upon  the  wealthy  concourse  of  people 
with  which  that  place  is  every  day  filled.  In  this  case,  how  would 
he  be  surprised  to  hear  all  the  languages  of  Europe  spoken  in  this 
little  spot  of  his  former  dominions,  and  to  see  so  many  private  men, 
who  in  his  time  would  have  been  the  vassals  of  some  powerful 
baron,  negotiating  like  princes  for  greater  sums  of  money  than 
were  formerly  to  be  met  with  in  the  royal  treasury!  Trade,  without 
enlarging  the  British  territories,  has  given  us  a  kind  of  additional 
empire.  It  has  multiplied  the  number  of  the  rich,  made  our  landed 
estates  infinitely  more  valuable  than  they  were  formerly,  and  added 
to  them  an  accession  of  other  estates  as  valuable  as  the  lands  them- 
selves. C. 


THE   EVERLASTING   CLUB 

No.  72.]    WEDNESDAY,  MAY  23,  1711.    [ADDISON.] 

—  Genus  immortale  manet,  multosque  per  annos 
Stat  fortuna  domus,  et  avi  numerantur  avorum. 

VIRG.  Georg.  iv.  208. 

Th'  immortal  line  in  sure  succession  reigns, 

The  fortune  of  the  family  remains, 

And  grandsire's  grandsons  the  long  list  contains. 

HAVING  already  given  my  reader  an  account  of  several  extraor- 
dinary clubs  both  ancient  and  modern,  I  did  not  design  to 
have  troubled  him  with  any  more  narratives  of  this  nature;  but  I 
have  lately  received  information  of  a  club,  which  I  can  call  neither 
ancient  nor  modern,  that  I  dare  say  will  be  no  less  surprising  to  my 
reader  than  it  was  to  myself;  for  which  reason  I  shall  communicate 
it  to  the  public  as  one  of  the  greatest  curiosities  in  its  kind. 

A  friend  of  mine  complaining  of  a  tradesman  who  is  related  to 
him,  after  having  represented  him  as  a  very  idle  worthless  fellow, 
who  neglected  his  family  and  spent  most  of  his  time  over  a  bottle, 
told  me,  to  conclude  his  character,  that  he  was  a  member  of  the 

199 


THE    SPECTATOR 

Everlasting  Club.  So  very  odd  a  title  raised  my  curiosity  to  inquire 
into  the  nature  of  a  club  that  had  such  a  sounding  name;  upon 
which  my  friend  gave  me  the  following  account: 

The  Everlasting  Club  consists  of  a  hundred  members,  who  divide 
the  whole  twenty-four  hours  among  them  in  such  a  manner,  that 
the  club  sits  day  and  night  from  one  end  of  the  year  to  another; 
no  party  presuming  to  rise  till  they  are  relieved  by  those  who  are  in 
course  to  succeed  them.  By  this  means  a  member  of  the  Ever- 
lasting Club  never  wants  company;  for  though  he  is  not  upon  duty 
himself,  he  is  sure  to  find  some  who  are;  so  that  if  he  be  disposed 
to  take  a  whet,  a  nooning,  an  evening's  draught,  or  a  bottle  after 
midnight,  he  goes  to  the  club,  and  finds  a  knot  of  friends  to  his 
mind. 

It  is  a  maxim  in  this  club  that  the  steward  never  dies ;  for  as  they 
succeed  one  another  by  way  of  rotation,  no  man  is  to  quit  the  great 
elbow-chair  which  stands  at  the  upper  end  of  the  table,  till  his  suc- 
cessor is  in  readiness  to  fill  it;  insomuch  that  there  has  not  been 
a  sede  vacante  in  the  memory  of  man. 

This  club  was  instituted  towards  the  end  (or,  as  some  of  them 
say,  about  the  middle)  of  the  civil  wars,  and  continued  without 
interruption  till  the  time  of  the  great  fire,  which  burnt  them  out, 
and  dispersed  them  for  several  weeks.  The  steward  at  that  time 
maintained  his  post  till  he  had  like  to  have  been  blown  up  with  a 
neighbouring  house  (which  was  demolished  in  order  to  stop  the 
fire) ;  and  would  not  leave  the  chair  at  last,  till  he  had  emptied  all 
the  bottles  upon  the  table,  and  received  repeated  directions  from 
the  club  to  withdraw  himself.  This  steward  is  frequently  talked 
of  in  the  club,  and  looked  upon  by  every  member  of  it  as  a  greater 
man  than  the  famous  captain  mentioned  in  my  Lord  Clarendon, 
who  was  burnt  in  his  ship  because  he  would  not  quit  it  without  orders. 
It  is  said  that  towards  the  close  of  1700,  being  the  great  year  of 
Jubilee,  the  club  had  it  under  consideration  whether  they  should 
break  up  or  continue  their  session;  but  after  many  speeches  and 
debates,  it  was  at  length  agreed  to  sit  out  the  other  century.  This 
resolution  passed  in  a  general  club  nemine  contradicente. 

Having  given  this  short  account  of  the  institution  and  continuation 
of  the  Everlasting  Club,  I  should  here  endeavour  to  say  something 
of  the  manners  and  characters  of  its  several  members,  which  I  shall 
do  according  to  the  best  light  I  have  received  in  this  matter. 

It  appears  by  their  books  in  general,  that,  since  their  first  institu- 

200 


THE    SPECTATOR 

tion,  they  have  smoked  fifty  tons  of  tobacco,  drank  thirty  thousand 
butts  of  ale,  one  thousand  hogsheads  of  red  port,  two  hundred 
barrels  of  brandy,  and  a  kilderkin  of  small  beer.  There  has  been 
likewise  a  great  consumption  of  cards.  It  is  also  said  that  they 
observe  the  law  in  Ben  Jonson's  club,  which  orders  the  fire  to  be 
always  kept  in  (jocus  perennis  estd),  as  well  for  the  convenience  of 
lighting  their  pipes,  as  to  cure  the  dampness  of  the  club-room. 
They  have  an  old  woman  hi  the  nature  of  a  vestal,  whose  business 
it  is  to  cherish  and  perpetuate  the  fire  which  burns  from  generation 
to  generation,  and  has  seen  the  glass-house  fires  in  and  out  above  a 
hundred  times. 

The  Everlasting  Club  treats  all  other  clubs  with  an  eye  of  con- 
tempt, and  talks  even  of  the  Kit-Cat  and  October  as  a  couple  of 
upstarts.  Their  ordinary  discourse  (as  much  as  I  have  been  able 
to  learn  of  it)  turns  altogether  upon  such  adventures  as  have  passed 
in  their  own  assembly;  of  members  who  have  taken  the  glass  hi  their 
turns  for  a  week  together,  without  stirring  out  of  the  club;  of  others 
who  have  smoked  a  hundred  pipes  at  a  sitting;  of  others  who  have 
not  missed  their  morning's  draught  for  twenty  years  together. 
Sometimes  they  speak  in  raptures  of  a  run  of  ale  in  king  Charles's 
reign;  and  sometimes  reflect  with  astonishment  upon  games  at 
whist,  which  have  been  miraculously  recovered  by  members  of 
the  society,  when  in  all  human  probability  the  case  was  desperate. 

They  delight  hi  several  old  catches,  which  they  sing  at  all  hours 
to  encourage  one  another  to  moisten  their  clay,  and  grow  immortal 
by  drinking;  with  many  other  edifying  exhortations  of  the  like 
nature. 

There  are  four  general  clubs  held  in  a  year,  at  which  times  they 
fill  up  vacancies,  appoint  waiters,  confirm  the  old  firemaker  or  elect 
a  new  one,  settle  contributions  for  coals,  pipes,  tobacco,  and  other 
necessaries. 

The  senior  member  has  outlived  the  whole  club  twice  over,  and 
has  been  drunk  with  the  grandfathers  of  some  of  the  present  sitting 
members.  C. 


201 


THE   SPECTATOR 

PARTY  PATCHES 

No.  81.]    SATURDAY,  JUNE  2,  1711. 

Qualis  ubi  audito  venantum  murmure  Tigris 
Horruit  in  maculas. —  STATIUS. 

As  when  the  tigress  hears  the  hunter's  din, 
Dark  angry  spots  distain  her  glossy  skin. 

ABOUT  the  middle  of  last  winter  I  went  to  see  an  opera  at  the 
theatre  in  the  Haymarket,  where  I  could  not  but  take  notice 
of  two  parties  of  very  fine  women,  that  had  placed  themselves  in 
the  opposite  side-boxes,  and  seemed  drawn  up  in  a  kind  of  battle 
array  one  against  another.  After  a  short  survey  of  them,  I  found 
they  were  patched  differently;  the  faces  on  one  hand,  being  spotted 
on  the  right  side  of  the  forehead,  and  those  upon  the  other  on  the 
left.  I  quickly  perceived  that  they  cast  hostile  glances  upon  one  an- 
other; and  that  their  patches  were  placed  in  those  different  situations, 
as  party-signals  to  distinguish  friends  from  foes.  In  the  middle  boxes, 
between  these  two  opposite  bodies,  were  several  ladies  who  patched 
indifferently  on  both  sides  of  their  faces,  and  seemed  to  sit  there 
with  no  other  intention  but  to  see  the  opera.  Upon  inquiry  I 
found,  that  the  body  of  Amazons  on  my  right  hand,  were  Whigs, 
and  those  on  my  left,  Tories;  and  that  those  who  had  placed  them- 
selves in  the  middle  boxes  were  a  neutral  party,  whose  faces  had  not 
yet  declared  themselves.  These  last,  however,  as  I  afterwards 
found,  diminished  daily,  and  took  their  party  with  one  side  or  the 
other;  insomuch  that  I  observed  in  several  of  them,  the  patches, 
which  were  before  dispersed  equally,  are  now  all  gone  over  to  the 
Whig  or  Tory  side  of  the  face.  The  censorious  say,  that  the  men, 
whose  hearts  are  aimed  at,  are  very  often  the  occasions  that  one  part 
cf  the  face  is  thus  dishonoured,  and  lies  under  a  kind  of.  disgrace, 
while  the  other  is  so  much  set  off  and  adorned  by  the  owner;  and 
that  the  patches  turn  to  the  right  or  to  the  left,  according  to  the 
principles  of  the  man  who  is  most  in  favour.  But  whatever  may 
be  the  motives  of  a  few  fantastical  coquettes,  who  do  not  patch  for 
the  public  good  so  much  as  for  their  own  private  advantage,  it  is 
certain,  that  there  are  several  women  of  honour  who  patch  out  of 

202 


THE   SPECTATOR 

principle,  and  with  an  eye  to  the  interest  of  their  country.  Nay, 
I  am  informed  that  some  of  them  adhere  so  stedfastly  to  their  party, 
and  are  so  far  from  sacrificing  their  zeal  for  the  public  to  their 
passion  for  any  particular  person,  that  in  a  late  draft  of  marriage 
articles  a  lady  has  stipulated  with  her  husband,  that,  whatever  his 
opinions  are,  she  shall  be  at  liberty  to  patch  on  which  side  she 
pleases. 

I  must  here  take  notice,  that  Rosalinda,  a  famous  Whig  partisan, 
has  most  unfortunately  a  very  beautiful  mole  on  the  Tory  part  of 
her  forehead ;  which  being  very  conspicuous,  has  occasioned  many 
mistakes,  and  given  a  handle  to  her  enemies  to  misrepresent  her 
face,  as  though  it  had  revolted  from  the  Whig  interest.  But, 
whatever  this  natural  patch  may  seem  to  intimate,  it  is  well  known 
that  her  notions  of  government  are  still  the  same.  This  unlucky 
mole,  however,  has  misled  several  coxcombs;  and  like  the  hanging 
out  of  false  colours,  made  some  of  them  converse  with  Rosalinda 
in  what  they  thought  the  spirit  of  her  party,  when  on  a  sudden  she 
has  given  them  an  unexpected  fire,  that  has  sunk  them  all  at  once. 
If  Rosalinda  is  unfortunate  in  her  mole,  Nigranilla  is  as  unhappy  in 
a  pimple,  which  forces  her,  against  her  inclinations,  to  patch  on 
the  Whig  side. 

I  am  told  that  many  virtuous  matrons,  who  formerly  have  been 
taught  to  believe  that  this  artificial  spotting  of  the  face  was  unlaw- 
ful, are  now  reconciled  by  a  zeal  for  their  cause,  to  what  they  could 
not  be  prompted  by  a  concern  for  their  beauty.  This  way  of  declar- 
ing war  upon  one  another,  puts  me  in  mind  of  what  is  reported  of 
the  tigress,  that  several  spots  rise  in  her  skin  when  she  is  angry,  or 
as  Mr.  Cowley  has  imitated  the  verses  that  stand  as  the  motto  on 
this  paper, 

She  swells  with  angry  pride, 

And  calls  forth  all  her  spots  on  ev'ry  side. 

When  I  was  in  the  theatre  the  time  above-mentioned,  I  had  the 
curiosity  to  count  the  patches  on  both  sides,  and  found  the  Tory 
patches  to  be  about  twenty  stronger  than  the  Whig;  but  to  make 
amends  for  this  small  inequality,  I  the  next  morning  found  the 
whole  puppet-show  filled  with  faces  spotted  after  the  Whiggish 
manner.  Whether  or  no  the  ladies  had  retreated  hither  in  order  to 
rally  their  forces  I  cannot  tell;  but  the  next  night  they  came  in  so 
great  a  body  to  the  opera,  that  they  outnumbered  the  enemy. 

203 


THE    SPECTATOR 

This  account  of  party  patches  will,  I  am  afraid,  appear  improb- 
able to  those  who  live  at  a  distance  from  the  fashionable  world ;  but 
as  it  is  a  distinction  of  a  very  singular  nature,  and  what  perhaps 
may  never  meet  with  a  parallel,  I  think  I  should  not  have  discharged 
the  office  of  a  faithful  Spectator,  had  I  not  recorded  it. 

I  have,  in  former  papers,  endeavoured  to  expose  this  party-rage 
in  women,  as  it  only  serves  to  aggravate  the  hatreds  and  animosities 
that  reign  among  men,  and  in  a  great  measure  deprive  the  fair 
sex  of  those  peculiar  charms  with  which  nature  has  endowed  them. 

When  the  Romans  and  Sabines  were  at  war,  and  just  upon  the 
point  of  giving  battle,  the  women,  who  were  allied  to  both  of  them, 
interposed  with  so  many  tears  and  entreaties,  that  they  prevented 
the  mutual  slaughter  which  threatened  both  parties,  and  united 
them  together  in  a  firm  and  lasting  peace. 

I  would  recommend  this  noble  example  to  our  British  ladies, 
at  a  time  when  their  country  is  torn  with  so  many  unnatural  divi- 
sions, that  if  they  continue,  it  will  be  a  misfortune  to  be  born  in  it. 
The  Greeks  thought  it  so  improper  for  women  to  interest  themselves 
in  competitions  and  contentions,  that  for  this  reason,  among  others, 
they  forbad  them,  under  pain  of  death,  to  be  present  at  the  Olympic 
games,  notwithstanding  these  were  the  public  diversions  of  all 
Greece. 

As  our  English  women  excel  those  of  all  nations  in  beauty,  they 
should  endeavour  to  outshine  them  in  all  other  accomplishments 
proper  to  the  sex,  and  to  distinguish  themselves  as  tender  mothers, 
and  faithful  wives,  rather  than  as  furious  partisans.  Female 
virtues  are  of  a  domestic  turn.  The  family  is  the  proper  province 
for  private  women  to  shine  in.  If  they  must  be  showing  their 
zeal  for  the  public,  let  it  not  be  against  those  who  are  perhaps  of 
the  same  family,  or  at  least  of  the  same  religion  or  nation,  but  against 
those  who  are  the  open,  professed,  undoubted  enemies  of  their 
faith,  liberty,  and  country.  When  the  Romans  were  pressed  with 
a  foreign  enemy,  the  ladies  voluntarily  contributed  all  their  rings 
and  jewels  to  assist  the  government  under  a  public  exigence,  which 
appeared  so  laudable  an  action  in  the  eyes  of  their  countrymen, 
that  from  thenceforth  it  was  permitted  by  a  law  to  pronounce  public 
orations  at  the  funeral  of  a  woman  in  praise  of  the  deceased  person, 
which  till  that  time  was  peculiar  to  men.  Would  our  English 
ladies,  instead  of  sticking  on  a  patch  against  those  of  their  own 
country,  show  themselves  so  truly  public-spirited  as  to  sacrifice 

204 


THE    SPECTATOR 

every  one  her  necklace  against  the  common  enemy,  what  decrees 
ought  not  to  be  made  in  favour  of  them  ? 

Since  I  am  recollecting  upon  this  subject  such  passages  as  occur 
to  my  memory  out  of  ancient  authors,  I  cannot  omit  a  sentence  in 
the  celebrated  funeral  oration  of  Pericles,  which  he  made  in  honour 
of  those  brave  Athenians  that  were  slain  in  a  fight  with  the  Lacedae- 
monians. After  having  addressed  himself  to  the  several  ranks  and 
orders  of  his  countrymen,  and  shown  them  how  they  should  behave 
themselves  in  the  public  cause,  he  turns  to  the  female  part  of  his 
audience:  "And  as  for  you  (says  he)  I  shah1  advise  you  in  very  few 
words:  Aspire  only  to  those  virtues  that  are  peculiar  to  your  sex; 
follow  your  natural  modesty,  and  think  it  your  greatest  commenda- 
tion not  to  be  talked  of  one  way  or  other." 

C. 


ON   PHYSIOGNOMY 

No.  86.]    FRIDAY,  JUNE  8,  1711.    [ADDISON.] 

Heu  quam  difficile  est  crimen  non  prodere  vultu!  —  OVID. 

THERE  are  several  arts  which  all  men  are  in  some  measure 
masters  of,  without  having  been  at  the  pains  of  learning  them. 
Every  one  that  speaks  or  reasons  is  a  grammarian  and  a  logician, 
though  he  may  be  wholly  unacquainted  with  the  rules  of  grammar 
or  logic,  as  they  are  delivered  hi  books  and  systems.  In  the  same 
manner,  every  one  is  in  some  degree  a  master  of  that  art  which  is 
generally  distinguished  by  the  name  of  physiognomy;  and  naturally 
forms  to  himself  the  character  or  fortune  of  a  stranger,  from  the 
features  and  lineaments  of  his  face.  We  are  no  sooner  presented  to 
any  one  we  never  saw  before,  but  we  are  immediately  struck  with 
the  idea  of  a  proud,  a  reserved,  an  affable,  or  a  good-natured  man; 
and  upon  our  first  going  into  a  company  of  strangers,  our  benevo- 
lence or  aversion,  awe  or  contempt,  rises  naturally  towards  several 
particular  persons,  before  we  have  heard  them  speak  a  single  word, 
or  so  much  as  know  who  they  are. 

Every  passion  gives  a  particular  cast  to  the  countenance,  and  is 
apt  to  discover  itself  in  some  feature  or  other.  I  have  seen  an  eye 
curse  for  half  an  hour  together,  and  an  eye-brow  call  a  man  scoundrel. 

205 


THE    SPECTATOR 

Nothing  is  more  common  than  for  lovers  to  complain,  resent, 
languish,  despair,  and  die,  in  dumb  show.  For  my  own  part,  I  am 
so  apt  to  frame  a  notion  of  every  man's  humour  or  circumstances  by 
his  looks,  that  I  have  sometimes  employed  myself  from  Charing- 
Cross  to  the  Royal  Exchange  in  drawing  the  characters  of  those  who 
have  passed  by  me.  When  I  see  a  man  with  a  sour,  rivelled  face,  I 
cannot  forbear  pitying  his  wife;  and  when  I  meet  with  an  open,  in- 
genuous countenance,  think  on  the  happiness  of  his  friends,  his 
family,  and  relations. 

I  cannot  recollect  the  author  of  a  famous  saying  to  a  stranger  who 
stood  silent  in  his  company,  "  Speak,  that  I  may  see  thee."  But, 
with  submission,  I  think  we  may  be  better  known  by  our  looks  than 
by  our  words,  and  that  a  man's  speech  is  much  more  easily  dis- 
guised than  his  countenance.  In  this  case,  however,  I  think  the 
air  of  the  whole  face  is  much  more  expressive  than  the  lines  of  it: 
the  truth  of  it  is,  the  air  is  generally  nothing  else  but  the  inward  dis- 
position of  the  mind  made  visible. 

Those  who  have  established  physiognomy  into  an  art,  and  laid 
down  rules  of  judging  men's  tempers  by  their  faces,  have  regarded 
the  features  much  more  than  the  air.  Martial  has  a  pretty  epi- 
gram on  this  subject. 

Crine  ruber,  niger  ore,  brevis  pede,  lumine  laesus; 
Rem  magnam  praestas,  Zoile,  si  bonus  es. 

Thy  beard  and  head  are  of  a  different  dye; 
Short  of  one  foot,  distorted  in  an  eye; 
With  all  these  tokens  of  a  knave  complete, 
Should'st  thou  be  honest,  thou'rt  a  dev'lish  cheat. 

I  have  seen  a  very  ingenious  author  on  this  subject,  who  founds 
his  speculations  on  the  supposition,  that  as  a  man  hath  in  the  mould 
of  his  face  a  remote  likeness  to  that  of  an  ox,  a  sheep,  a  lion,  an  hog, 
or  any  other  creature,  he  hath  the  same  resemblance  in  the  frame 
of  his  mind,  and  is  subject  to  those  passions  which  are  predominate 
in  the  creature  that  appears  in  his  countenance.  Accordingly  he 
gives  the  prints  of  several  faces  that  are  of  a  different  mould,  and  by 
a  little  overcharging  the  likeness,  discovers  the  figures  of  these  sev- 
eral kinds  of  brutal  faces  in  human  features.  I  remember  in  the 
Life  of  the  famous  Prince  of  Conde",  the  writer  observes,  the  face 
of  that  prince  was  like  the  face  of  an  eagle,  and  that  the  prince  was 
very  well  pleased  to  be  told  so.  In  this  case,  therefore,  we  may  be 

206 


THE    SPECTATOR 

sure,  that  he  had  in  his  mind  some  general,  implicit  notion  of  this 
art  of  physiognomy  which  I  have  just  now  mentioned;  and  that 
when  his  courtiers  told  him  his  face  was  made  like  an  eagle's,  he 
understood  them  in  the  same  manner  as  if  they  had  told  him,  there 
was  something  in  his  looks  which  showed  him  to  be  strong,  active, 
piercing,  and  of  a  royal  descent.  Whether  or  no  the  different 
motions  of  the  animal  spirits  in  different  passions,  may  have  any 
effect  on  the  mould  of  the  face  when  the  lineaments  are  pliable  and 
tender,  or  whether  the  same  kind  of  souls  require  the  same  kind  of 
habitations,  I  shall  leave  to  the  consideration  of  the  curious.  In  the 
mean  time  I  think  nothing  can  be  more  glorious  than  for  a  man  to 
give  the  lie  to  his  face,  and  to  be  an  honest,  just,  and  good-natured 
man,  in  spite  of  all  those  marks  and  signatures  which  nature  seems 
to  have  set  upon  him  for  the  contrary.  This  very  often  happens 
among  those,  who,  instead  of  being  exasperated  by  their  own  looks, 
or  envying  the  looks  of  others,  apply  themselves  entirely  to  the  culti- 
vating of  their  minds,  and  getting  those  beauties  which  are  more 
lasting,  and  more  ornamental.  I  have  seen  many  an  amiable  piece 
of  deformity:  and  have  observed  a  certain  cheerfulness  in  as  bad  a 
system  of  features  as  ever  was  clapped  together,  which  hath  ap- 
peared more  lovely  than  all  the  blooming  charms  of  an  insolent 
beauty.  There  is  a  double  praise  due  to  virtue,  when  it  is  lodged 
in  a  body  that  seems  to  have  been  prepared  for  the  reception  of  vice ; 
in  many  such  cases  the  soul  and  the  body  do  not  seem  to  be  fellows. 
Socrates  was  an  extraordinary  instance  of  this  nature.  There 
chanced  to  be  a  great  physiognomist  in  his  time  at  Athens,  who  had 
made  strange  discoveries  of  men's  tempers  and  inclinations  by  their 
outward  appearances.  Socrates's  disciples,  that  they  might  put 
this  artist  to  the  trial,  carried  him  to  their  master,  whom  he  had 
never  seen  before,  and  did  not  know  he  was  then  in  company  with 
him.  After  a  short  examination  of  his  face,  the  physiognomist  pro- 
nounced him  the  most  rude,  libidinous,  drunken  old  fellow  that  he 
had  ever  met  with  in  his  whole  life.  Upon  which  the  disciples  all 
burst  out  a  laughing,  as  thinking  they  had  detected  the  falsehood 
and  vanity  of  his  art.  But  Socrates  told  them,  that  the  principles  of 
his  art  might  be  very  true,  notwithstanding  his  present  mistake ;  for 
that  he  himself  was  naturally  inclined  to  those  particular  vices 
which  the  physiognomist  had  discovered  in  his  countenance,  but 
<hat  he  had  conquered  the  strong  dispositions  he  was  born  with, 
by  the  dictates  of  philosophy. 

207 


THE    SPECTATOR 

We  are  indeed  told  by  an  ancient  author,  that  Socrates  very  much 
resembled  Silenus  in  his  face;  which  we  find  to  have  been  very 
rightly  observed  from  the  statues  and  busts  of  both  that  are  still  ex- 
tant; as  well  as  on  several  antique  seals  and  precious  stones,  which 
are  frequently  enough  to  be  met  with  in  the  cabinets  of  the  curious. 
But,  however  observations  of  this  nature  may  sometimes  hold,  a 
wise  man  should  be  particularly  cautious  how  he  gives  credit  to  a 
man's  outward  appearance.  It  is  an  irreparable  injustice  we  are 
guilty  of  towards  one  another,  when  we  are  prejudiced  by  the  looks 
and  features  of  those  whom  we  do  not  know.  How  often  do  we  con- 
ceive hatred  against  a  person  of  worth;  or  fancy  a  man  to  be  proud 
and  ill-natured  by  his  aspect,  whom  we  think  we  cannot  esteem  too 
much  when  we  are  acquainted  with  his  real  character !  Dr.  Moore 
in  his  admirable  System  of  Ethics,  reckons  this  particular  inclination 
to  take  a  prejudice  against  a  man  for  his  looks,  among  the  smaller 
vices  in  morality,  and,  if  I  remember,  gives  it  the  name  of  a  Proso- 
polepsia. 


ADVENTURE  OF  M.  PONTIGNAN 
No.  90.]    WEDNESDAY,  JUNE  13,  1711.    [ADDISON.] 

Magnus  sine  viribus  ignis 

Incassum  furit.  —  VIRG. 

THERE  is  not,  in  my  opinion,  a  consideration  more  effectual 
to  extinguish  inordinate  desires  in  the  soul  of  man,  than  the 
notions  of  Plato  and  his  followers  upon  that  subject.  They  tell 
us,  that  every  passion  which  has  been  contracted  by  the  soul  during 
her  residence  in  the  body,  remains  with  her  in  a  separate  state ;  and 
that  the  soul  hi  the  body,  or  out  of  the  body,  differs  no  more  than 
the  man  does  from  himself  when  he  is  in  his  house,  or  in  open  air. 
When,  therefore,  the  obscene  passions  in  particular  have  once 
taken  root,  and  spread  themselves  in  the  soul,  they  cleave  to  her 
inseparably,  and  remain  in  her  for  ever,  after  the  body  is  cast  off 
and  thrown  aside.  As  an  argument  to  confirm  this  their  doctrine, 
they  observe,  that  a  lewd  youth,  who  goes  on  in  a  continued  course 
of  voluptuousness,  advances  by  degrees  into  a  libidinous  old  man; 
and  that  the  passion  survives  in  the  mind  when  it  is  altogether  dead 

208 


THE    SPECTATOR 

in  the  body;  nay,  that  the  desire  grows  more  violent,  and  (like  all 
other  habits)  gathers  strength  by  age,  at  the  same  time  that  it  has 
no  power  of  executing  its  own  purposes.  If,  say  they,  the  soul  is 
the  most  subject  to  these  passions  at  a  time  when  she  has  the  least 
instigation  from  the  body,  we  may  well  suppose  she  will  still  retain 
them  when  she  is  entirely  divested  of  it.  The  very  substance  of 
the  soul  is  festered  with  them;  the  gangrene  is  gone  too  far  to  be 
ever  cured :  the  inflammation  will  rage  to  all  eternity. 

In  this,  therefore,  (say  the  Platonists,)  consists  the  punishment 
of  a  voluptuous  man  after  death :  he  is  tormented  with  desires  which 
it  is  impossible  for  him  to  gratify,  solicited  by  a  passion  that  has 
neither  objects  nor  organs  adapted  to  it:  he  lives  in  a  state  of  invin- 
cible desire  and  impotence,  and  always  burns  in  the  pursuit  of  what 
he  always  despairs  to  possess.  It  is  for  this  reason  (says  Plato) 
that  the  souls  of  the  dead  appear  frequently  in  cemeteries,  and 
hover  about  the  places  where  their  bodies  are  buried,  as  still  hanker- 
ing after  their  old  brutal  pleasures,  and  desiring  again  to  enter  the 
body  that  gave  them  an  opportunity  of  fulfilling  them. 

Some  of  our  most  eminent  divines  have  made  use  of  this  Platonic 
notion,  so  far  as  it  regards  the  subsistence  of  our  passions  after 
death,  with  great  beauty  and  strength  of  reason.  Plato,  indeed, 
carries  his  thought  very  far,  when  he  grafts  upon  it  his  opinion  of 
ghosts  appearing  in  places  of  burial.  Though,  I  must  confess, 
if  one  did  believe  that  the  departed  souls  of  men  and  women  wan- 
dered up  and  down  these  lower  regions,  and  entertained  themselves 
with  the  sight  of  their  species,  one  could  not  devise  a  more  proper 
hell  for  an  impure  spirit  than  that  which  Plato  has  touched  upon. 

The  ancients  seem  to  have  drawn  such  a  state  of  torments  in  the 
description  of  Tantalus,  who  was  punished  with  the  rage  of  an 
eternal  thirst,  and  set  up  to  the  chin  in  water,  that  fled  from  his 
lips  whenever  he  attempted  to  drink  it. 

Virgil,  who  has  cast  the  whole  system  of  Platonic  philosophy, 
so  far  as  it  relates  to  the  soul  of  man,  into  beautiful  allegories,  in 
the  sixth  book  of  his  ALneid,  gives  us  the  punishment  of  a  volup- 
tuary after  death,  not  unlike  that  which  we  are  here  speaking  of. 

— Lucent  genialibus  altis 
Aurea  fulcra  tons,  epulaeque  ante  ora  paratae 
Regifico  luxu;  furiarum  maxima  juxta 
Accubac,  et  manibus  prohibet  contingere  mensas; 
Exurgitque  facem  attollens,  atque  intonat  ore. 

2Og 


THE   SPECTATOR 

They  lie  below  on  golden  beds  displayed, 
And  genial  feasts  with  regal  pomp  are  made. 
The  queen  of  furies  by  their  side  is  set, 
And  snatches  from  their  mouths  the  untasted  meat; 
Which  if  they  touch,  her  hissing  snakes  she  rears, 
Tossing  her  torch,  and  thundering  in  their  ears.        DRYDEN. 

That  I  may  a  little  alleviate  the  severity  of  this  my  speculation, 
(which  otherwise  may  lose  me  several  of  my  polite  readers,)  I  shall 
translate  a  story  that  has  been  quoted  upon  another  occasion  by 
one  of  the  most  learned  men  of  the  present  age,  as  I  find  it  in  the 
original.  The  reader  will  see  it  is  not  foreign  to  my  present  subject, 
and  I  dare  say  will  think  it  a  lively  representation  of  a  person  lying 
under  the  torments  of  such  a  kind  of  tantalism,  or  Platonic  hell, 
as  that  which  we  have  now  under  consideration.  Monsieur  Pon- 
tignan,  speaking  of  a  love-adventure  that  happened  to  him  in  the 
country,  gives  the  following  account  of  it. 

"  When  I  was  in  the  country  last  summer,  I  was  often  in  company 
with  a  couple  of  charming  women,  who  had  all  the  wit  and  beauty 
one  could  desire  in  female  companions,  with  a  dash  of  coquetry, 
that  from  time  to  time  gave  me  a  great  many  agreeable  torments. 
I  was,  after  my  way,  in  love  with  both  of  them,  and  had  such 
frequent  opportunities  of  pleading  my  passion  to  them  when  they 
were  asunder,  that  I  had  reason  to  hope  for  particular  favours  from 
each  of  them.  As  I  was  walking  one  evening  in  my  chamber  with 
nothing  about  me  but  my  night-gown,  they  both  came  into  my  room, 
and  told  me  they  had  a  very  pleasant  trick  to  put  upon  a  gentleman 
that  was  in  the  same  house,  provided  I  would  bear  a  part  in  it. 
Upon  this  they  told  me  such  a  plausible  story,  that  I  laughed  at 
their  contrivance,  and  agreed  to  do  whatever  they  should  require 
of  me.  They  immediately  began  to  swaddle  me  up  in  my  night- 
gown with  long  pieces  of  linen,  which  they  folded  about  me  till 
they  had  wrapt  me  in  above  an  hundred  yards  of  swathe :  my  arms 
were  pressed  to  my  sides,  and  my  legs  closed  together  by  so  many 
wrappers  one  over  another,  that  I  looked  like  an  Egyptian  mummy. 
As  I  stood  bolt  upright  upon  one  end  in  this  antique  figure,  one  of 
the  ladies  burst  out  a  laughing.  'And  now,  Pontignan,  (says  she) 
we  intend  to  perform  the  promise  that  we  find  you  have  extorted 
from  each  of  us.  You  have  often  asked  the  favour  of  us,  and  I 
dare  say  you  are  a  better  bred  cavalier  than  to  refuse  to  go  to  bed 
to  ladies  that  desire  it  of  you.'  After  having  stood  a  fit  of  laughter, 

210 


THE   SPECTATOR 

I  begged  them  to  uncase  me,  and  do  with  me  what  they  pleased. 
'No,  no,  (say  they,)  we  like  you  very  well  as  you  are;'  and  upon 
that  ordered  me  to  be  carried  to  one  of  their  houses,  and  put  to 
bed  in  all  my  swaddles.  The  room  was  lighted  up  on  all  sides; 
and  I  was  laid  very  decently  between  a  pah*  of  sheets,  with  my  head 
(which  was,  indeed,  the  only  part  I  could  move),  upon  a  very  high 
pillow:  this  was  no  sooner  done,  but  my  two  female  friends  came 
into  bed  to  me  in  their  finest  night-clothes.  You  may  easily  guess 
at  the  condition  of  a  man  that  saw  a  couple  of  the  most  beautiful 
women  in  the  world  undrest  and  abed  with  him,  without  being  able 
to  stir  hand  or  foot.  I  begged  them  to  release  me,  and  struggled 
all  I  could  to  get  loose,  which  I  did  with  so  much  violence,  that 
about  midnight  they  both  leaped  out  of  bed,  crying  out  they  were 
undone.  But  seeing  me  safe,  they  took  their  posts  again,  and 
renewed  their  raillery.  Finding  all  my  prayers  and  endeavours 
were  lost,  I  composed  myself  as  well  as  I  could ;  and  told  them,  that 
if  they  would  not  unbind  me,  I  would  fall  asleep  between  them, 
and  by  that  means  disgrace  them  for  ever.  But,  alas!  this  was 
impossible;  could  I  have  been  disposed  to  it,  they  would  have  pre- 
vented me  by  several  little  ill-natured  caresses  and  endearments 
which  they  bestowed  upon  me.  As  much  devoted  as  I  am  to  woman- 
kind, I  would  not  pass  such  another  night  to  be  master  of  the  whole 
sex.  My  reader  will  doubtless  be  curious  to  know  what  became  of 
me  the  next  morning:  why,  truly,  my  bed -fellows  left  me  about  an 
hour  before  day,  and  told  me  if  I  would  be  good,  and  lie  still,  they 
would  send  somebody  to  take  me  up  as  soon  as  it  was  time  for  me 
to  rise.  Accordingly  about  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  an  old 
woman  came  to  unswathe  me.  I  bore  all  this  very  patiently,  being 
resolved  to  take  my  revenge  of  my  tormentors,  and  to  keep  no 
measures  with  them  as  soon  as  I  was  at  liberty;  but  upon  asking  my 
old  woman  what  was  become  of  the  two  ladies,  she  told  me  she 
believed  they  were  by  that  time  within  sight  of  Paris,  for  that  they 
went  away  in  a  coach  and  six  before  five-a-clock  in  the  morning." 


211 


THE    SPECTATOR 

EXERCISE   OF   THE   FAN 
No.  102.]    WEDNESDAY,  JUNE  27,  1711.    [ADDISON.] 

—  Lusus  animo  debent  aliquando  dari, 
Ad  cogitandum  melior  ut  redeat  sibi. — PHJEDR. 

I  DO  not  know  whether  to  call  the  following  letter  a  satire  upon 
coquettes,  or  a  representation  of  their  several  fantastical 
accomplishments,  or  what  other  title  to  give  it;  but  as  it  is  I  shall 
communicate  it  to  the  public.  It  will  sufficiently  explain  its  own 
intentions,  so  that  I  shall  give  it  my  reader  at  length,  without  either 
preface  or  postscript. 

"MR.  SPECTATOR, — Women  are  armed  with  fans  as  men  with 
swords,  and  sometimes  do  more  execution  with  them.  To  the  end , 
therefore,  that  ladies  may  be  entire  mistresses  of  the  weapon  which 
they  bear,  I  have  erected  an  Academy  for  the  training  up  of  young 
women  in  the  Exercise  of  the  Fan,  according  to  the  most  fashion- 
able airs  and  motions  that  are  now  practised  at  court.  The  ladies 
who  carry  fans  under  me  are  drawn  up  twice  a  day  in  my  great 
hall,  where  they  are  instructed  in  the  use  of  their  arms,  and  exer- 
cised by  the  following  words  of  command: 


Handle  your  Fans, 
Unfurl  your  Fans, 
Discharge  your  Fans, 
Ground  your  Fans, 
Recover  your  Fans, 
Flutter  your  Fans, 


By  the  right  observation  of  these  few  plain  words  of  command,  a 
woman  of  tolerable  genius  who  will  apply  herself  diligently  to  her 
exercise  for  the  space  of  one  half  year,  shall  be  able  to  give  her  fan 
all  the  graces  that  can  possibly  enter  into  that  little  modish  machine. 

"But  to  the  end  that  my  readers  may  form  to  themselves  a 
right  notion  of  this  exercise,  I  beg  leave  to  explain  it  to  them  hi  all 
its  parts.  When  my  female  regiment  is  drawn  up  in  array,  with 
every  one  her  weapon  in  her  hand,  upon  my  giving  the  word  to 

312 


THE   SPECTATOR 

Handle  their  Fans,  each  of  them  shakes  her  fan  at  me  with  a  smile, 
then  gives  her  right-hand  woman  a  tap  upon  the  shoulder,  then 
presses  her  lips  with  the  extremity  of  her  fan,  then  lets  her  arms 
fall  in  an  easy  motion,  and  stands  in  readiness  to  receive  the  next 
word  of  command.  All  this  is  done  with  a  close  fan,  and  is  gener- 
ally learned  in  the  first  week. 

"The  next  motion  is  that  of  Unfurling  the  Fan,  in  which  are 
comprehended  several  little  flirts  and  vibrations,  as  also  gradual 
and  deliberate  openings,  with  many  voluntary  fallings  asunder  in  the 
fan  itself,  that  are  seldom  learned  under  a  month's  practice.  This 
part  of  the  exercise  pleases  the  spectators  more  than  any  other,  as 
it  discovers  on  a  sudden  an  infinite  number  of  Cupids,  garlands, 
altars,  birds,  beasts,  rainbows,  and  the  like  agreeable  figures,  that 
display  themselves  to  view,  whilst  every  one  in  the  regiment  holds  a 
picture  in  her  hand. 

"Upon  my  giving  the  word  to  Discharge  their  Fans,  they  give 
one  general  crack,  that  may  be  heard  at  a  considerable  distance 
when  the  wind  sits  fair.  This  is  one  of  the  most  difficult  parts  of 
the  exercise;  but  I  have  several  ladies  with  me,  who  at  their  first 
entrance  could  not  give  a  pop  loud  enough  to  be  heard  at  the  further 
end  of  a  room,  who  can  now  Discharge  a  Fan  in  such  a  manner, 
that  it  shall  make  a  report  like  a  pocket-pistol.  I  have  likewise 
taken  care  (in  order  to  hinder  young  women  from  letting  off  their 
fans  in  wrong  places  or  unsuitable  occasions)  to  show  upon  what 
subject  the  crack  of  a  fan  may  come  in  properly.  I  have  likewise 
invented  a  fan,  with  which  a  girl  of  sixteen,  by  the  help  of  a  little 
wind  which  is  enclosed  about  one  of  the  largest  sticks,  can  make  as 
loud  a  crack  as  a  woman  of  fifty  with  an  ordinary  fan. 

"When  the  fans  are  thus  discharged,  the  word  of  command  in 
course  is  to  Ground  their  Fans.  This  teaches  a  lady  to  quit  her 
fan  gracefully  when  she  throws  it  aside,  in  order  to  take  up  a  pack  of 
cards,  adjust  a  curl  of  hair,  replace  a  fallen  pin,  or  apply  herself 
to  any  other  matter  of  importance.  This  part  of  the  exercise,  as  it 
only  consists  in  tossing  a  fan  with  an  air  upon  a  long  table  (which 
stands  by  for  that  purpose)  may  be  learnt  in  two  days'  time  as  well 
as  in  a  twelvemonth. 

"When  my  female  regiment  is  thus  disarmed,  I  generally  let 
them  walk  about  the  room  for  some  time;  when  on  a  sudden  (like 
ladies  that  look  upon  their  watches  after  a  long  visit)  they  all  of 
them  hasten  to  their  arms,  catch  them  up  in  a  hurry,  and  place 

213 


THE    SPECTATOR 

themselves  in  their  proper  stations,  upon  my  calling  out  Recover 
your  Fans.  This  part  of  the  exercise  is  not  difficult,  provided  a 
woman  applies  her  thoughts  to  it. 

"The  Fluttering  of  the  Fan  is  the  last,  and,  indeed,  the  master- 
piece of  the  whole  exercise;  but  if  a  lady  does  not  misspend  her 
time,  she  may  make  herself  mistress  of  it  in  three  months.  I 
generally  lay  aside  the  dog-days  and  the  hot  time  of  the  summer 
for  the  teaching  of  this  part  of  the  exercise;  for  as  soon  as  ever  I 
pronounce  Flutter  your  Fans,  the  place  is  filled  with  so  many 
zephyrs  and  gentle  breezes  as  are  very  refreshing  in  that  season 
of  the  year,  though  they  might  be  dangerous  to  ladies  of  a  tender 
constitution  in  any  other. 

"  There  is  an  infinite  variety  of  motions  to  be  made  use  of  in  the 
Flutter  of  a  Fan:  there  is  the  angry  flutter,  the  modest  flutter,  the 
timorous  flutter,  the  confused  flutter,  the  merry  flutter,  and  the 
amorous  flutter.  Not  to  be  tedious,  there  is  scarce  any  emotion 
in  the  mind  which  does  not  produce  a  suitable  agitation  in  the  fan ; 
insomuch,  that  if  I  only  see  the  fan  of  a  disciplined  lady,  I  know 
very  well  whether  she  laughs,  frowns,  or  blushes.  I  have  seen  a 
fan  so  very  angry,  that  it  would  have  been  dangerous  for  the  absent 
lover  who  provoked  it  to  have  come  within  the  wind  of  it;  and  at 
other  times  so  very  languishing,  that  I  have  been  glad  for  the  lady's 
sake  the  lover  was  at  a  sufficient  distance  from  it.  I  need  not  add, 
that  a  fan  is  either  a  prude  or  coquette,  according  to  the  nature  of 
the  person  who  bears  it.  To  conclude  my  letter,  I  must  acquaint 
you,  that  I  have  from  my  own  observations  compiled  a  little  treatise 
for  the  use  of  my  scholars,  entitled,  The  Passions  of  the  Fan;  which 
I  will  communicate  to  you,  if  you  think  it  may  be  of  use  to  the 
public.  I  shall  have  a  general  review  on  Thursday  next;  to  which 
you  shall  be  very  welcome  if  you  will  honour  it  with  your  presence. 

"I  am,"   &c. 

"P.  S.  I  teach  young  gentlemen  the  whole  art  of  gallanting  a  fan. 

"  N.  B.  I  have  several  little  plain  fans  made  for  this  use,  to  avoid 
expense." 


214 


THE    SPECTATOR 

ON    PEDANTRY 

No.  105.]    SATURDAY,  JUNE  30,  1711.    [ADDISON.] 


•  Id  arbitror 


Adprime  in  vita  esse  utile,  NE  QUID  NIMIS. 

TER.  Andr.  Act  i,  Sc.  i. 

I  take  it  to  be  a  principal  rule  of  life  not  to  be  too  much 

addicted  to  one  thing. 
Too  much  of  any  thing,  is  good  for  nothing. 

MY  friend  Will  Honeycomb  values  himself  very  much  upon 
what  he  calls  the  knowledge  of  mankind,  which  has  cost  him 
many  disasters  in  his  youth ;  for  Will  reckons  every  misfortune  that 
he  has  met  with  among  the  women,  and  every  rencounter  among 
the  men,  as  parts  of  his  education;  and  fancies  he  should  never 
have  been  the  man  he  is  had  he  not  broke  windows,  knocked  down 
constables,  disturbed  honest  people  with  his  midnight  serenades, 
and  beat  up  a  lewd  woman's  quarters  when  he  was  a  young  fellow. 
The  engaging  in  adventures  of  this  nature  Will  calls  the  studying 
of  mankind;  and  terms  this  knowledge  of  the  town  the  knowledge 
of  the  world.  Will  ingeniously  confesses  that  fcr  half  his  life  his 
head  ached  every  morning  with  reading  of  men  over-night;  and 
at  present  comforts  himself  under  certain  pains  which  he  endures 
from  time  to  time,  that  without  them  he  could  not  have  been  ac- 
quainted with  the  gallantries  of  the  age.  This  Will  looks  upon 
as  the  learning  of  a  gentleman,  and  regards  all  other  kind  of  science 
as  the  accomplishments  of  one  whom  he  calls  a  scholar,  a  bookish 
man,  or  a  philosopher. 

For  these  reasons  Will  shines  in  mixed  company,  where  he  has 
the  discretion  not  to  go  out  of  his  depth,  and  has  often  a  certain 
way  of  making  his  real  ignorance  appear  a  seeming  one.  Our 
club,  however,  has  frequently  caught  him  tripping,  at  which  times 
they  never  spare  him.  For  as  Will  often  insults  us  with  the  knowl- 
edge of  the  town,  we  sometimes  take  our  revenge  upon  him  by  cur 
knowledge  of  books. 

He  was  last  week  producing  two  or  three  letters  which  he  writ 
in  his  youth  to  a  coquette  lady.  The  raillery  of  them  was  natural, 
and  well  enough  for  a  mere  man  of  the  town;  but  very  unluckily 
several  of  the  words  were  wrong  spelt.  Will  laughed  this  off  at 

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THE    SPECTATOR 

first  as  well  as  he  could;  but  finding  himself  pushed  on  all  sides, 
and  especially  by  the  Templar,  he  told  us  with  a  little  passion  that 
he  never  liked  pedantry  in  spelling,  and  that  he  spelt  like  a  gentle- 
man and  not  like  a  scholar.  Upon  this  Will  had  recourse  to  his 
old  topic  of  showing  the  narrow-spiritedness,  the  pride,  and  igno- 
rance of  pedants;  which  he  carried  so  far  that,  upon  my  retiring 
to  my  lodgings,  I  could  not  forbear  throwing  together  such  reflec- 
tions as  occurred  to  me  upon  the  subject. 

A  man  who  has  been  brought  up  among  books,  and  is  able  to 
talk  of  nothing  else,  is  a  very  indifferent  companion,  and  what  we 
call  a  pedant.  But  methinks  we  should  enlarge  the  title,  and  give 
it  every  one  that  does  not  know  how  to  think  out  of  his  profession 
and  particular  way  of  life. 

What  is  a  greater  pedant  than  a  mere  man  of  the  town?  Bar 
him  the  play-houses,  a  catalogue  of  the  reigning  beauties,  and  an 
account  of  a  few  fashionable  distempers  that  have  befallen  him, 
and  you  strike  him  dumb.  How  many  a  pretty  gentleman's  knowl- 
edge lies  all  within  the  verge  of  the  court?  He  will  tell  you  the 
names  of  the  principal  favourites,  repeat  the  shrewd  sayings  of  a 
man  of  quality,  whisper  an  intrigue  that  is  not  yet  blown  upon 
by  common  fame;  or,  if  the  sphere  of  his  observations  is  a  little 
larger  than  ordinary,  will  perhaps  enter  into  all  the  incidents,  turns, 
and  revolutions  in  a  game  of  ombre.  When  he  has  gone  thus  far, 
he  has  shown  you  the  whole  circle  of  his  accomplishments,  his 
parts  are  drained,  and  he  is  disabled  from  any  farther  conversa- 
tion. What  are  these  but  rank  pedants?  and  yet  these  are  the 
men  who  value  themselves  most  on  their  exemption  from  the 
pedantry  of  colleges. 

I  might  here  mention  the  military  pedant  who  always  talks  in  a 
camp,  and  in  storming  towns,  making  lodgments  and  fighting 
battles  from  one  end  of  the  year  to  the  other.  Everything  he  speaks 
smells  of  gunpowder;  if  you  take  away  his  artillery  from  him,  he 
has  not  a  word  to  say  for  himself.  I  might  likewise  mention  the 
law  pedant,  that  is  perpetually  putting  cases,  repeating  the  trans- 
actions cf  Westminster-hall,  wrangling  with  you  upon  the  most 
indifferent  circumstances  of  life,  and  not  to  be  convinced  of  the 
distance  of  a  place,  or  of  the  most  trivial  point  in  conversation, 
but  by  dint  of  argument.  The  state  pedant  is  wrapt  up  in  news, 
and  lost  in  politics.  If  you  mention  either  of  the  kings  of  Spain 
or  Poland,  he  talks  very  notably;  but  if  you  go  out  of  the  Gazette 

216 


THE    SPECTATOR 

you  drop  him.  In  short,  a  mere  courtier,  a  mere  soldier,  a  mere 
scholar,  a  mere  anything,  is  an  insipid  pedantic  character,  and 
equally  ridiculous. 

Of  all  the  species  of  pedants  which  I  have  mentioned,  the  book 
pedant  is  much  the  most  supportable;  he  has  at  least  an  exercised 
understanding,  and  a  head  which  is  full  though  confused,  so  that 
a  man  who  converses  with  him  may  often  receive  from  him  hints 
of  things  that  are  worth  knowing,  and  what  he  may  possibly  turn 
to  his  own  advantage,  though  they  are  of  little  use  to  the  owner. 
The  worst  kind  of  pedants  among  learned  men  are  such  as  are 
naturally  endued  with  a  very  small  share  of  common  sense,  and 
have  read  a  great  number  of  books  without  taste  or  distinction. 

The  truth  of  it  is,  learning,  like  travelling,  and  all  other  methods 
of  improvement,  as  it  finishes  good  sense,  so  it  makes  a  silly  man 
ten  thousand  times  more  insufferable,  by  supplying  variety  of 
matter  to  his  impertinence,  and  giving  him  an  opportunity  of 
abounding  in  absurdities. 

Shallow  pedants  cry  up  one  another  much  more  than  men  of  solid 
and  useful  learning.  To  read  the  titles  they  give  an  editor  or 
collator  of  a  manuscript,  you  would  take  him  for  the  glory  of  the 
commonwealth  of  letters,  and  the  wonder  of  his  age,  when  perhaps 
upon  examination  you  find  that  he  has  only  rectified  a  Greek  par- 
ticle, or  laid  out  a  whole  sentence  in  proper  commas. 

They  are  obliged  indeed  to  be  thus  lavish  of  their  praises,  that 
they  may  keep  one  another  in  countenance ;  and  it  is  no  wonder  if  a 
great  deal  of  knowledge,  which  is  not  capable  of  making  a  man 
wise,  has  a  natural  tendency  to  make  him  vain  and  arrogant.  L. 


THE   MAN   OF   PLEASURE 

No.  151.]    THURSDAY,  AUGUST  23,  1711.    [STEELE.] 

Maximas  virtutes  jacere  omnes  necesse  est  voluptate  dominante. 

TULL.  de  Fin. 
Where  pleasure  prevails,  all  the  greatest  virtues  will  lose  their  power. 

I   KNOW  no  one  character  that  gives  reason  a  greater  shock 
at  the  same  time  that  it  presents  a  good  ridiculous  image  to 
the  imagination,  than  that  of  a  man  of  wit  and  pleasure  about  the 
town.    This  description  of  a  man  of  fashion,  spoken  by  some  with 

217 


THE    SPECTATOR 

a  mixture  of  scorn  and  ridicule,  by  others  with  great  gravity  as  a 
laudable  distinction,  is  in  everybody's  mouth  that  spends  any  time 
in  conversation.  My  friend  Will  Honeycomb  has  this  expression 
very  frequently;  and  I  never  could  understand  by  the  story  which 
follows,  upon  his  mention  of  such  a  one,  but  that  this  man  of  wit 
and  pleasure  was  either  a  drunkard  too  old  for  wenching,  or  a  young 
lewd  fellow  with  some  liveliness,  who  would  converse  with  you, 
receive  kind  offices  of  you,  and  at  the  same  time  debauch  your 
sister,  or  lie  with  your  wife.  According  to  his  description  a  man 
of  wit,  when  he  could  have  wenches  for  crowns  a-piece,  which  he 
liked  quite  as  well,  would  be  so  extravagant  as  to  bribe  servants, 
make  false  friendships,  fight  relations:  I  say,  according  to  him, 
plain  and  simple  vice  was  too  little  for  a  man  of  wit  and  pleasure; 
but  he  would  leave  an  easy  and  accessible  wickedness  to  come  at 
the  same  thing  with  only  the  addition  of  certain  falsehood  and 
possible  murder.  Will  thinks  the  town  grown  very  dull,  hi  that 
we  do  not  hear  so  much  as  we  used  to  do  of  these  coxcombs,  whom 
(without  observing  it)  he  describes  as  the  most  infamous  rogues  in 
nature,  with  relation  to  friendship,  love,  or  conversation. 

When  pleasure  is  made  the  chief  pursuit  of  life,  it  will  necessarily 
follow  that  such  monsters  as  these  wilLarise,  from  a  constant  appli- 
cation to  such  blandishments  as  naturally  root  out  the  force  of 
reason  and  reflection,  and  substitute  in  their  place  a  general  im- 
patience of  thought,  and  a  constant  pruriency  of  inordinate  desire. 

Pleasure,  when  it  is  a  man's  chief  purpose,  disappoints  itself; 
and  the  constant  application  to  it  palls  the  faculty  of  enjoying  it, 
though  it  leaves  the  sense  of  our  inability  for  that  we  wish  with  a 
disrelish  of  everything  else.  Thus  the  intermediate  seasons  of  the 
man  of  pleasure  are  more  heavy  than  one  would  impose  upon  the 
vilest  criminal.  Take  him  when  he  is  awaked  too  soon  after  a 
debauch,  or  disappointed  in  following  a  worthless  woman  without 
truth,  and  there  is  no  man  living  whose  being  is  such  a  weight  or 
vexation  as  his  is.  He  is  an  utter  stranger  to  the  pleasing  reflec- 
tions in  the  evening  of  a  well-spent  day,  or  the  gladness  of  heart  or 
quickness  of  spirit  in  the  morning  after  profound  sleep  or  indolent 
slumbers.  He  is  not  to  be  at  ease  any  longer  than  he  can  keep 
reason  and  good  sense  without  his  curtains;  otherwise  he  will  be 
haunted  with  the  reflection,  that  he  could  not  believe  such  a  one  the 
woman  that  upon  trial  he  found  her.  What  has  he  got  by  his  con- 
quest, but  to  think  meanly  of  her  for  whom  a  day  or  two  before  he 

218 


THE   SPECTATOR 

had  the  highest  honour  ?  and  of  himself,  for  perhaps  wronging  the 
man  whom  of  all  men  living  he  himself  would  least  willingly  have 
injured  ? 

Pleasure  seizes  the  whole  man  who  addicts  himself  to  it,  and  will 
not  give  him  leisure  for  any  good  office  in  life  which  contradicts  the 
gaiety  of  the  present  hour.  You  may  indeed  observe  in  people  of 
pleasure  a  certain  complacency  and  absence  of  all  severity,  which  the 
habit  of  a  loose  unconcerned  life  gives  them:  but  tell  the  man  of 
pleasure  your  secret  wants,  cares,  or  sorrows,  and  you  will  find  he 
has  given  up  the  delicacy  of  his  passions  to  the  cravings  of  his  appe- 
tites. He  little  knows  the  perfect  joy  he  loses  for  the  disappointing 
gratifications  which  he  pursues.  He  looks  at  Pleasure  as  she  ap- 
proaches and  comesto  him  with  the  recommendation  of  warm  wishes, 
gay  looks,  and  graceful  motion;  but  he  does  not  observe  how  she 
leaves  his  presence  with  disorder,  impotence,  down-cast  shame,  and 
conscious  imperfection.  She  makes  our  youth  inglorious,  our  age 
shameful. 

Will  Honeycomb  gives  us  twenty  intimations  in  an  evening  of 
several  hags  whose  bloom  was  given  up  to  his  arms;  and  would 
raise  a  value  to  himself  for  having  had,  as  the  phrase  is,  "very 
good  women."  Will's  good  women  are  the  comfort  of  his  heart, 
and  support  him,  I  warrant,  by  the  memory  of  past  interviews  with 
persons  of  their  condition.  No,  there  is  not  in  the  world  an  occa- 
sion wherein  vice  makes  so  fantastical  a  figure,  as  at  the  meeting  of 
two  old  people  who  have  been  partners  in  unwarrantable  pleasure. 
To  tell  a  toothless  old  lady  that  she  once  had  a  good  set,  or  a  defunct 
wencher  that  he  once  was  the  admired  thing  cf  the  town,  are  satires 
instead  of  applauses;  but,  on  the  other  side,  consider  the  old  age  of 
those  who  have  passed  their  days  in  labour,  industry,  and  virtue, 
their  decays  make  them  but  appear  the  more  venerable,  and  the 
imperfections  of  their  bodies  are  beheld  as  a  misfortune  to  human 
society  that  their  make  is  so  little  durable. 

But  to  return  more  directly  to  any  man  of  wit  and  pleasure.  In 
all  orders  of  men,  wherever  this  is  the  chief  character,  the  person 
who  wears  it  is  a  negligent  friend,  father,  and  husband,  and  entails 
poverty  en  his  unhappy  descendants.  Mortgages,  diseases,  and 
settlements,  are  the  legacies  a  man  of  wit  and  pleasure  leaves  to  his 
family.  All  the  poor  rogues  that  make  such  lamentable  speeches  after 
every  sessions  at  Tyburn,  were,  in  their  way,  men  of  wit  and  pleasure 
before  they  fell  into  the  adventures  which  brought  them  thither. 

219 


THE    SPECTATOR 

Irresolution  and  procrastination  in  all  a  man's  affairs,  are  the  nat- 
ural effects  of  being  addicted  to  pleasure.  Dishonour  to  the  gentle- 
man and  bankruptcy  to  the  trader  are  the  portion  of  either  whose 
chief  purpose  of  life  is  delight.  The  chief  cause  that  this  pursuit 
has  been  in  all  ages  received  with  so  much  quarter  from  the  soberer 
part  of  mankind  has  been,  that  some  men  of  great  talents  have 
sacrificed  themselves  to  it.  The  shining  qualities  of  such  people 
have  given  a  beauty  to  whatever  they  were  engaged  in,  and  a  mix- 
ture of  wit  has  recommended  madness.  For  let  any  man  who 
knows  what  it  is  to  have  passed  much  time  in  a  series  of  jollity,  mirth, 
wit,  or  humorous  entertainments,  look  back  at  what  he  was  all  that 
while  a  doing,  and  he  will  find  that  he  has  been  at  one  instant  sharp 
to  some  man  he  is  sorry  to  have  offended,  impertinent  to  some  one 
it  was  cruelty  to  treat  with  such  freedom,  ungracefully  noisy  at  such 
a  time,  unmercifully  calumnious  at  such  a  time;  and,  from  the 
whole  course  of  his  applauded  satisfactions,  unable  in  the  end  to 
recollect  any  circumstance  which  can  add  to  the  enjoyment  of  his 
own  mind  alone,  or  which  he  would  put  his  character  upon  with 
other  men.  Thus  it  is  with  those  who  are  best  made  for  becoming 
pleasures;  but  how  monstrous  is  it  in  the  generality  of  mankind 
who  pretend  this  way,  without  genius  or  inclination  towards  it! 
The  scene  then  is  wild  to  an  extravagance:  this  is,  as  if  fools  should 
mimic  madmen.  Pleasure  of  this  kind  is  the  intemperate  meals 
and  loud  jollities  of  the  common  rate  of  country  gentlemen,  whose 
practice  and  way  of  enjoyment  is  to  put  an  end  as  fast  as  they  can  to 
that  little  particle  of  reason  they  have  when  they  are  sober.  These 
men  of  wit  and  pleasure  despatch  their  senses  as  fast  as  possible  by 
drinking  till  they  cannot  taste,  smoking  till  they  cannot  see,  and 
roaring  till  they  cannot  hear'.  T. 


220 


THE   SPECTATOR 

A   WOMAN'S    MAN 
No.  156.]    WEDNESDAY,  AUGUST  29,  1711.    [STEELE.I] 

—  Sed  tu  simul  obligasti 
Perfidum  votis  caput,  enitescis 
Pulchrior  multo. 

HOR.  2  Od.  viii.  3. 
—  But  thou, 

When  once  thou  hast  broke  some  tender  vow, 
All  perjur'd,  dost  more  charming  grow! 

I  DO  not  think  any  thing  could  make  a  pleasanter  entertain- 
ment, than  the  history  of  the  reigning  favourites  among  the 
women  from  time  to  time  about  this  town.  In  such  an  account  we 
ought  to  have  a  faithful  confession  of  each  lady  for  what  she  liked 
such  and  such  a  man,  and  he  ought  to  tell  us  by  what  particular 
action  or  dress  he  believed  he  would  be  most  successful.  As  for 
my  part,  I  have  always  made  as  easy  a  judgment  when  a  man 
dresses  for  the  ladies,  as  when  he  is  equipped  for  hunting  or 
coursing.  The  woman's  man  is  a  person  in  his  air  and  behaviour 
quite  different  from  the  rest  of  our  species.  His  garb  is  more  loose 
and  negligent,  his  manner  more  soft  and  indolent;  that  is  to  say, 
in  both  cases  there  is  an  apparent  endeavour  to  appear  unconcerned 
and  careless.  In  catching  birds  the  fowlers  have  a  method  of 
imitating  their  voices  to  bring  them  to  the  snare ;  q,nd  your  women's 
men  have  always  a  similitude  of  the  creature  they  hope  to  betray, 
in  their  own  conversation.  A  woman's  man  is  very  knowing  hi  all 
that  passes  from  one  family  to  another,  has  pretty  little  officious- 
nesses,  in  not  at  a  loss  what  is  good  for  a  cold,  and  it  is  not  amiss  if 
he  has  a  bottle  of  spirits  hi  his  pocket  hi  case  of  any  sudden 
indisposition. 

Curiosity  having  been  my  prevailing  passion,  and  indeed  the  sole 
entertainment  of  my  life,  I  have  sometimes  made  it  my  business  to 
examine  the  course  of  intrigues  as  well  as  the  manners  and  accom- 
plishments of  such  as  have  been  most  successful  in  that  way.  In  all 
my  observation,  I  never  knew  a  man  of  good  understanding  a  general 
favourite ;  some  singularity  in  his  behaviour,  some  whim  in  his  way 
of  life,  and  what  would  have  made  him  ridiculous  among  the  men, 
has  recommended  him  to  the  other  sex.  I  should  be  very  sorry  to 
offend  a  people  so  fortunate  as  those  of  whom  I  am  speaking;  but 

221 


THE   SPECTATOR 

let  any  one  look  over  the  old  beaux,  and  he  will  find  the  man  of 
success  was  remarkable  for  quarrelling  impertinently  for  their 
sakes,  for  dressing  unlike  the  rest  of  the  world,  or  passing  his  days 
in  an  insipid  assiduity  about  the  fair  sex  to  gain  the  figure  he  made 
amongst  them.  Add  to  this  that  he  must  have  the  reputation  of 
being  well  with  other  women,  to  please  any  one  woman  of  gallantry; 
for  you  are  to  know,  that  there  is  a  mighty  ambition  among  the  light 
part  of  the  sex  to  gain  slaves  from  the  dominion  of  others.  My 
friend  Will  Honeycomb  says  it  was  a  common  bite  with  him,  to 
lay  suspicions  that  he  was  favoured  by  a  lady's  enemy,  that  is,  some 
rival  beauty,  to  be  well  with  herself.  A  little  spite  is  natural  to  a 
great  beauty:  and  it  is  ordinary  to  snap  up  a  disagreeable  fellow 
lest  another  should  have  him.  That  impudent  toad  Bareface  fares 
well  among  all  the  ladies  he  converses  with,  for  no  other  reason  in 
the  world  but  that  he  has  the  skill  to  keep  them  from  explanation 
with  one  another.  Did  they  know  there  is  not  one  who  likes  him 
in  her  heart,  each  would  declare  her  scorn  of  him  the  next  moment ; 
but  he  is  well  received  by  them  because  it  is  the  fashion,  and  oppo- 
sition to  each  other  brings  them  insensibly  into  an  imitation  of  each 
other.  What  adds  to  him  the  greatest  grace  is,  that  the  pleasant 
thief,  as  they  call  him,  is  the  most  inconstant  creature  living,  has  a 
wonderful  deal  of  wit  and  humour,  and  never  wants  something  to 
say;  besides  all  which,  he  has  a  most  spiteful  dangerous  tongue  if 
you  should  provoke  him. 

To  make  a  woman's  man,  he  must  not  be  a  man  of  sense  or  a 
fool;  the  business  is  to  entertain,  and  it  is  much  better  to  have  a 
faculty  of  arguing,  than  a  capacity  of  judging  right.  But  the  pleas- 
antest  of  all  the  woman's  equipage  are  your  regular  visitants; 
these  are  volunteers  in  their  service,  without  hopes  of  pay  or  prefer- 
ment. It  is  enough  that  they  can  lead  out  from  a  public  place, 
that  they  are  admitted  on  a  public  day,  and  can  be  allowed  to  pass 
away  part  of  that  heavy  load,  their  time,  in  the  company  of  the  fair. 
But  commend  me  above  all  others  to  those  who  are  known  for  your 
ruiners  of  ladies;  these  are  the  choicest  spirits  which  our  age  pro- 
duces. We  have  several  of  these  irresistible  gentlemen  among  us 
when  the  company  is  in  town.  These  fellows  are  accomplished 
with  the  knowledge  of  the  ordinary  occurrences  about  court  and 
town,  have  that  sort  of  good  breeding  which  is  exclusive  of  all 
morality,  and  consists  only  in  being  publicly  decent,  privately 
dissolute. 

222 


THE   SPECTATOR 

It  is  wonderful  how  far  a  fond  opinion  of  herself  can  carry  a 
woman,  to  make  her  have  the  least  regard  to  a  professed  known 
woman's  man;  but  as  scarce  one  of  all  the  women  who  are  in  the 
tour  of  gallantries  ever  hears  anything  of  what  is  the  common 
sense  of  sober  minds,  but  are  entertained  with  a  continual  round 
of  flatteries,  they  cannot  be  mistresses  of  themselves  enough  to 
make  arguments  for  their  own  conduct  from  the  behaviour  of 
these  men  to  others.  It  is  so  far  otherwise,  that  a  general  fame  for 
falsehood  in  this  kind  is  a  recommendation;  and  the  coxcomb, 
loaded  with  the  favours  of  many  others,  is  received  like  a  victor  that 
disdains  his  trophies,  to  be  a  victim  to  the  present  charmer. 

If  you  see  a  man  more  full  of  gesture  than  ordinary  in  a  public 
assembly,  if  loud  upon  no  occasion,  if  negligent  of  the  company 
around  him,  and  yet  laying  wait  for  destroying  by  that  negligence, 
you  may  take  it  for  granted  that  he  has  ruined  many  a  fair  one.  The 
woman's  man  expresses  himself  wholly  in  that  motion  which  we 
call  strutting.  An  elevated  chest,  a  pinched  hat,  a  measurable 
step,  and  a  sly  surveying  eye,  are  the  marks  of  him.  Now  and  then 
you  see  a  gentleman  with  all  these  accomplishments ;  but  alas !  any 
one  of  them  is  enough  to  undo  thousands.  When  a  gentleman  with 
such  perfections  adds  to  it  suitable  learning,  there  should  be  public 
warning  of  his  residence  in  town,  that  we  may  remove  our  wives 
and  daughters.  It  happens  sometimes  that  such  a  fine  man  has 
read  all  the  miscellany  poems,  a  few  of  our  comedies,  and  has  the 
translation  of  Ovid's  Epistles  by  heart.  "Oh  if  it  were  possible 
that  such  a  one  could  be  as  true  as  he  is  charming!  but  that  is  too 
much,  the  women  will  share  such  a  dear  false  man :  a  little  gallantry 
to  hear  him  talk  one  would  indulge  one's  self  in,  let  him  reckon  the 
sticks  of  one's  fan,  say  something  of  the  cupids  in  it;  and  then  call 
one  so  many  soft  names  which  a  man  of  his  learning  has  at  his 
fingers-ends.  There  sure  is  some  excuse  for  frailty,  when  attacked 
by  force  against  a  weak  woman."  Such  is  the  soliloquy  of  many 
a  lady  one  might  name,  at  the  sight  of  one  of  these  who  makes 
it  no  iniquity  to  go  on  from  day  to  day  in  the  sin  of  women- 
slaughter. 

It  is  certain  that  people  are  got  into  a  way  of  affectation,  with  a 
manner  of  overlooking  the  most  solid  virtues,  and  admiring  the  most 
trivial  excellencies.  The  woman  is  so  far  from  expecting  to  be 
contemned  for  being  a  very  injudicious  silly  animal,  that  while  she 
can  preserve  her  features  and  her  mien,  she  knows  that  she  is  still 

223 


THE   SPECTATOR 

the  object  of  desire;  and  there  is  a  sort  of  secret  ambition,  from 
reading  frivolous  books,  and  keeping  as  frivolous  company,  each 
side  to  be  amiable  in  imperfection,  and  arrive  at  the  characters 
of  the  Dear  Deceiver  and  the  Perjured  Fair. 


ACCOUNT   OF   A   GRINNING-MATCH 
No.  173.]    TUESDAY,  SEPTEMBER  18,  1711.    [ADDISON.] 

—  Remove  fera  monstra,  tuaeque 
Saxificos  vultus,  quaecunque  ea,  tolle  Medusae. —  OVID.  MET. 

IN  a  late  paper  I  mentioned  the  project  of  an  ingenious  author 
for  the  erecting  of  several  handicraft  prizes  to  be  contended 
for  by  our  British  artisans,  and  the  influence  they  might  have 
towards  the  improvement  of  our  several  manufactures.  I  have 
since  been  very  much  surprised  by  the  following  advertisement 
which  I  find  in  the  Post-Boy  of  the  nth  instant,  and  again  re- 
peated in  the  Post-Boy  of  the  isth. 

"ON  the  gth  of  October  next  will  be  run  for  upon  Coleshill 
Heath,  in  Warwickshire,  a  plate  of  six  guineas  value,  3  heats,  by 
any  horse,  mare,  or  gelding,  that  hath  not  won  above  the  value  of 
5/.,  the  winning  horse  to  be  sold  for  io/.,  to  carry  10  stone  weight,  if 
14  hands  high;  if  above  or  under,  to  carry  or  be  allowed  weight  for 
inches,  and  to  be  entered  Friday  the  i$th  at  the  Swan  in  Coleshill, 
before  6  in  the  evening.  Also  a  plate  of  less  value  to  be  run  for  by 
asses.  The  same  day  a  gold  ring  to  be  grinned  for  by  men." 

The  first  of  these  diversions,  that  is  to  be  exhibited  by  the  io/. 
race-horses,  may  probably  have  its  use;  but  the  two  last,  in  which 
the  asses  and  men  are  concerned,  seem  to  me  altogether  extraordi- 
nary and  unaccountable.  Why  thev  should  keep  running  asses 
at  Coleshill,  or  how  making  mouths  turns  to  account  in  Warwick- 
shire, mere  than  in  any  other  parts  of  England,  I  cannot  compre- 
hend. I  have  looked  over  all  the  Olympic  games,  and  do  not  find 
anything  in  them  like  an  ass-race,  or  a  match  at  grinning.  How- 
ever it  be,  I  am  informed,  that  several  asses  are  now  kept  in  body- 

224 


THE   SPECTATOR 

clothes,  and  sweated  every  morning  upon  the  heath;  and  that  all 
the  country-fellows  within  ten  miles  of  the  Swan  grin  an  hour  or 
two  in  their  glasses  every  morning,  in  order  to  qualify  themselves 
for  the  gth  of  October.  The  prize  which  is  proposed  to  be  grinned 
for,  has  raised  such  an  ambition  among  the  common  people  of  out- 
grinning  one  another,  that  many  very  discerning  persons  are  afraid 
it  should  spoil  most  of  the  faces  in  the  county;  and  that  a  Warwick- 
shire man  will  be  known  by  his  grin,  as  Roman  Catholics  imagine 
a  Kentish  man  is  by  his  tail.  The  gold  ring  which  is  made  the 
prize  of  deformity,  is  just  the  reverse  of  the  golden  apple  that  was 
formerly  made  the  prize  of  beauty,  and  should  carry  for  its  posie 
the  old  motto  inverted, 

Detur  tetriori. 

Or,  to  accommodate  it  to  the  capacity  of  the  combatants, 

The  frightfulPst  grinner 
Be  the  winner. 

In  the  mean  while  I  would  advise  a  Dutch  painter  to  be  present 
at  this  great  controversy  of  faces,  in  order  to  make  a  collection  of 
the  most  remarkable  grins  that  shall  be  there  exhibited. 

I  must  not  here  omit  an  account  which  I  lately  received  of  one  of 
these  grinning  matches  from  a  gentleman,  who,  upon  reading  the 
above-mentioned  advertisement,  entertained  a  coffee-house  with 
the  following  narrative.  Upon  the  taking  of  Namur,  among  other 
public  rejoicings  made  on  that  occasion,  there  was  a  gold  ring 
given  by  a  Whig  justice  of  the  peace  to  be  grinned  for.  The  first 
competitor  that  entered  the  lists,  was  a  black,  swarthy  Frenchman, 
who  accidentally  passed  that  way,  and  being  a  man  naturally  of  a 
withered  look  and  hard  features,  promised  himself  good  success. 
He  was  placed  upon  a  table  in  the  great  point  of  view,  and  looking 
upon  the  company  like  Milton 's  death, 

Grinn'd  horribly  a  ghastly  smile. 

His  muscles  were  so  drawn  together  on  each  side  of  his  face  that 
he  showed  twenty  teeth  at  a  grin,  and  put  the  country  in  some  pain, 
lest  a  foreigner  should  carry  away  the  honour  of  the  day;  but  upon 
a  further  trial  they  found  he  was  master  only  of  the  merry  grin. 

The  next  that  mounted  the  table  was  a  Malecontent  hi  those 
days,  and  a  great  master  of  the  whole  art  of  grinning,  but  particu- 

225 


THE   SPECTATOR 

larly  excelled  in  the  angry  grin.  He  did  his  part  so  well,  that  he  is 
said  to  have  made  half  a  dozen  women  miscarry;  but  the  justice 
being  apprized  by  one  who  stood  near  him,  that  the  fellow  who 
grinned  hi  his  face  was  a  Jacobite,  and  being  unwilling  that  a  dis- 
affected person  should  win  the  gold  ring,  and  be  looked  upon  as  the 
best  grinner  in  the  country,  he  ordered  the  oaths  to  be  tendered 
unto  him  upon  his  quitting  the  table,  which  the  grinner  refusing, 
he  was  set  aside  as  an  unqualified  person.  There  were  several 
other  grotesque  figures  that  presented  themselves,  which  it  would 
be  too  tedious  to  describe.  I  must  not,  however,  omit  a  plough- 
man, who  lived  in  the  further  part  of  the  country,  and  being  very 
lucky  in  a  pair  of  long  lanthorn-jaws,  wrung  his  face  into  such  a 
hideous  grimace,  that  every  feature  of  it  appeared  under  a  different 
distortion.  The  whole  company  stood  astonished  at  such  a  com- 
plicated grin,  and  were  ready  to  assign  the  prize  to  him,  had  it  not 
been  proved  by  one  of  his  antagonists  that  he  had  practised  with 
verjuice  for  some  days  before,  and  had  a  crab  found  upon  him  at 
the  very  time  of  grinning;  upon  which  the  best  judges  of  grinning 
declared  it  as  their  opinion,  that  he  was  not  to  be  looked  upon  as  a 
fair  grinner,  and  therefore  ordered  him  to  be  set  aside  as  a  cheat. 

The  prize,  it  seems,  fell  at  length  upon  a  cobbler,  Giles  Gorgon 
by  name,  who  produced  several  new  grins  of  his  own  invention, 
having  been  used  to  cut  faces  for  many  years  together  over  his  last. 
At  the  very  first  grin  he  cast  every  human  feature  out  of  his  counte- 
nance, at  the  second  he  became  the  face  of  a  spout,  at  the  third  a 
baboon,  at  the  fourth  the  head  of  a  bass-viol,  and  at  the  fifth  a  pair 
of  nut-crackers.  The  whole  assembly  wondered  at  his  accomplish- 
ments, and  bestowed  the  ring  on  him  unanimously;  but,  what  he 
esteemed  more  than  all  the  rest,  a  country  wench  whom  he  had 
wooed  in  vain  for  above  five  years  before,  was  so  charmed  with  his 
grins,  and  the  applauses  which  he  received  on  all  sides,  that  she 
married  him  the  week  following,  and  to  this  day  wears  the  prize 
upon  her  finger,  the  cobbler  having  made  use  of  it  as  his  wedding- 
ring. 

This  paper  might  perhaps  seem  very  impertinent,  if  it  grew 
serious  in  the  conclusion.  I  would  nevertheless  leave  it  to  the  con- 
sideration of  those  who  are  the  patrons  of  this  monstrous  trial  of 
skill,  whether  or  no  they  are  not  guilty,  in  some  measure,  of  an 
affront  to  their  species,  in  treating  after  this  manner  the  Human 
Face  Divine,  and  turning  that  part  of  us,  which  has  so  great  an 

226 


tfl 

c 
c 


THE    SPECTATOR 

image  impressed  upon  it,  into  the  image  of  a  monkey;  whether  the 
raising  such  silly  competitions  among  the  ignorant,  proposing 
prizes  for  such  useless  accomplishments,  filling  the  common  people's 
heads  with  such  senseless  ambitions,  and  inspiring  them  with  such 
absurd  ideas  of  superiority  and  pre-eminence,  has  not  in  it  some- 
thing immoral  as  well  as  ridiculous. 


ACCOUNT   OF   A   WHISTLING    MATCH 

No.  179.]    TUESDAY,  SEPTEMBER  25,  1711.    [ADDISON.] 

Centuriae  seniorum  agitant  expertia  frugis: 
Celsi  praetereunt  austera  poemata  Rhamnes. 
Omne  tulit  punctum  qui  miscuit  utile  dulci, 
Lectorem  delectando,  pariterque  monendo. — HOR. 

I  MAY  cast  my  readers  under  two  general  divisions,  the  Meis 
curial  and  the  Saturnine.  The  first  are  the  gay  part  of  my 
disciples,  who  require  speculations  of  wit  and  humour;  the  others 
are  those  of  a  more  solemn  and  sober  turn,  who  find  no  pleasure  but 
in  papers  of  morality  and  sound  sense.  The  former  call  everything 
that  is  serious  stupid ;  the  latter  look  upon  everything  as  impertinent 
that  is  ludicrous.  Were  I  always  grave,  one  half  cf  my  readers 
would  fall  off  from  me :  were  I  always  merry,  I  should  lose  the  other. 
I  make  it  therefore  my  endeavour  to  find  out  entertainments  for 
both  kinds,  and  by  that  means  perhaps  consult  the  good  of  both, 
more  than  I  should  do  did  I  always  write  to  the  particular  taste  of 
either.  As  they  neither  of  them  know  what  I  proceed  upon,  the 
sprightly  reader,  who  takes  up  my  paper  in  order  to  be  diverted, 
very  often  finds  himself  engaged  unawares  in  a  serious  and  profit- 
able course  of  thinking;  as,  on  the  contrary,  the  thoughtful  man, 
who  perhaps  may  hope  to  find  something  solid,  and  full  of  deep  re- 
flection, is  very  often  insensibly  betrayed  into  a  fit  of  mirth.  In  a 
word,  the  reader  sits  down  to  my  entertainment  without  knowing 
his  bill  of  fare,  and  has  therefore  at  least  the  pleasure  of  hoping 
there  may  be  a  lish  to  his  palate. 

I  must  confess,  were  I  left  to  myself,  I  would  rather  aim  at  in- 
structing than  diverting;  but  if  we  will  be  useful  to  the  world,  we 
must  take  it  as  we  find  it.  Authors  of  professed  severity  discourage 

227 


THE   SPECTATOR 

the  looser  part  of  mankind  from  having  anything  to  do  with  their 
writings.  A  man  must  have  virtue  in  him,  before  he  will  enter 
upon  the  reading  of  a  eneca  or  an  Epictetus.  The  very  title  of  a 
moral  treatise  has  something  in  it  austere  and  shocking  to  the  care- 
less and  inconsiderate. 

For  this  reason  several  unthinking  persons  fall  in  my  way,  who 
would  give  no  attention  to  lectures  delivered  with  a  religious  serious- 
ness or  a  philosophic  gravity.  They  are  insnared  into  sentiments 
of  wisdom  and  virtue  when  they  do  not  think  cf  it ;  and  if  by  that 
means  they  arrive  only  at  such  a  degree  cf  consideration  as  may  dis- 
pose them  to  listen  to  more  studied  and  elaborate  discourses,  I  shall 
not  think  my  speculations  useless.  I  might  likewise  observe,  that 
the  gloominess  in  which  sometimes  the  minds  of  the  best  men  are  in- 
volved, very  often  stands  in  need  of  such  little  incitements  to  mirth 
and  laughter  as  are  apt  to  disperse  melancholy,  and  put  our  facul- 
ties in  good  humour.  To  which  some  will  add,  that  the  British 
climate  more  than  any  other  makes  entertainments  of  this  nature 
in  a  manner  necessary. 

If  what  I  have  here  said  does  not  recommend,  it  will  at  least  ex- 
cuse, the  variety  of  my  speculations.  I  would  not  willingly  laugh 
but  in  order  to  instruct,  or  if  I  sometimes  fail  in  this  point,  when  my 
mirth  ceases  to  be  instructive,  it  shall  never  cease  to  be  innocent. 
A  scrupulous  conduct  in  this  particular  has,  perhaps,  more  merit 
in  it  than  the  generality  of  readers  imagine:  did  they  know  how 
many  thoughts  occur  in  a  point  of  humour,  which  a  discreet  author 
in  modesty  suppresses ;  how  many  strokes  of  raillery  present  them- 
selves, which  could  not  fail  to  please  the  ordinary  taste  of  mankind, 
but  are  stifled  in  their  birth  by  reason  of  some  remote  tendency 
which  they  carry  in  them  to  corrupt  the  minds  of  those  who  read 
them;  did  they  know  how  many  glances  of  ill-nature  are  indus- 
triously avoided  for  fear  of  doing  injury  to  the  reputation  of  another; 
they  would  be  apt  to  think  kindly  of  those  writers  who  endeavour 
to  make  themselves  diverting  without  being  immoral.  One  may 
apply  to  these  authors  that  passage  io  Walter, 

Poets  lose  half  the  praise  they  would  have  got, 
Were  it  but  known  what  they  discreetly  blot. 

As  nothing  is  more  easy  than  to  be  a  wit  with  all  the  above-men- 
tioned liberties,  it  requires  some  genius  and  invention  to  appear 
such  without  them. 

228 


THE    SPECTATOR 

What  I  have  here  said  is  not  only  in  regard  to  the  public,  but  with 
an  eye  to  my  particular  correspondent,  who  has  sent  me  the  follow- 
ing letter  which  I  have  castrated  in  some  places  upon  these  consider- 
ations. 

"  SIR,  —  Having  lately  seen  your  discourse  upon  a  match  of  grin- 
ning, I  cannot  forbear  giving  you  an  account  of  a  whistling  match, 
which,  with  many  others,  I  was  entertained  with  about  three  years 
since  at  the  Bath.  The  prize  was  a  guinea,  to  be  conferred  upon 
the  ablest  whistler,  that  is,  on  him  who  could  whistle  clearest,  and 
go  through  his  tune  without  laughing,  to  which  at  the  same  time  he 
was  provoked  by  the  antic  postures  of  a  Merry- Andrew,  who  was 
to  stand  upon  the  stage  and  play  his  tricks  in  the  eye  of  the  per- 
former. There  were  three  competitors  for  the  guinea.  The  first 
was  a  ploughman  of  a  very  promising  aspect;  his  features  were 
steady,  and  his  muscles  composed  in  so  inflexible  a  stupidity,  that 
upon  his  first  appearance  every  one  gave  the  guinea  for  lost.  The 
pickled-herring,  however,  found  the  way  to  shake  him,  for  upon  his 
whistling  a  country  jig,  this  unlucky  wag  danced  to  it  with  such  va- 
riety of  distortions  and  grimaces,  that  the  countryman  could  not 
forbear  smiling  upon  him,  and  by  that  means  spoiled  his  whistle 
and  lost  the  prize. 

"The  next  that  mounted  the  stage  was  .an  under-citizen  of  the 
Bath,  a  person  remarkable  among  the  inferior  people  of  that  place 
for  his  great  wisdom  and  his  broad  band.  He  contracted  his 
mouth  with  much  gravity,  and,  that  he  might  dispose  his  mind  to 
be  more  serious  than  ordinary,  begun  the  tune  '  of  the  Children  in 
the  Wood,'  and  went  through  part  of  it  with  good  success;  when  on 
a  sudden  the  wit  at  his  elbow,  who  had  appeared  wonderfully  grave 
and  attentive  for  some  time,  gave  him  a  touch  upon  the  left  shoulder, 
and  stared  him  in  the  face  with  so  bewitching  a  grin,  that  the 
whistler  relaxed  his  fibres  into  a  kind  of  simper,  and  at  length  burst 
out  into  an  open  laugh.  The  third  who  entered  the  lists  was  a 
foot-man,  who,  in  defiance  of  the  Merry-Andrew  and  all  his  arts, 
whistled  a  Scotch  tune  and  an  Italian  sonata,  with  so  settled  a 
countenance,  that  he  bore  away  the  prize,  to  the  great  admiration 
of  some  hundreds  of  persons,  who,  as  well  as  myself,  were  present 
at  this  trial  of  skill.  Now,  sir,  I  humbly  conceive,  whatever  you 
have  determined  of  the  grinners,  the  whistlers  ought  to  be  encour- 
aged, not  only  as  their  art  is  practised  without  distortion,  but  as  it 

229 


THE    SPECTATOR 

improves  country  music,  promotes  gravity,  and  teaches  ordinary 
people  to  keep  their  countenances,  if  they  see  anything  ridiculous 
in  their  betters;  besides  that,  it  seems  an  entertainment  very  par- 
ticularly adapted  to  the  Bath,  as  it  is  usual  for  a  rider  to  whistle  to 
his  horse  when  he  would  make  his  waters  pass. 

"I  am,  sir,"    &c. 

POSTSCRIPT. 

"After  you  have  despatched  these  two  important  points  of 
grinning  and  whistling,  I  hope  you  will  oblige  the  world  with  some 
reflections  upon  yawning,  as  I  have  seen  it  practised  on  a  twelfth- 
night,  among  other  Christmas  gambols,  at  the  house  of  a  very 
worthy  gentleman,  who  always  entertains  his  tenants  at  that  time 
of  the  year.  They  yawn  for  a  Cheshire  cheese,  and  begin  about 
midnight,  when  the  whole  company  is  disposed  to  be  drowsy.  He 
that  yawns  widest,  and  at  the  same  time  so  naturally  as  to  produce 
the  most  yawns  among  the  spectators,  carries  home  the  cheese. 
If  you  handle  this  subject  as  you  ought,  I  question  not  but  your 
paper  will  set  half  the  kingdom  a  yawning,  though  I  dare  promise 
you  it  will  never  make  anybody  fall  asleep." 


ON    TEMPERANCE 

No.  195.]    SATURDAY,  OCTOBER  13,  1711.    [ADDISON.] 

Nijviot  o&8'  taraffiv  Sffu  ir\tov  JJ/AUTV  wavrbs' 
068'  foov  tv  fM\dxv  re  8£  d<r</>od{\ip  joey    Sveiap. 

HES.  Oper.   &  Dier.  1.  i.  40. 

Fools  not  to  know  that  half  exceeds  the  whole, 
How  blest  the  sparing  meal  and  temperate  bowl. 

THERE  is  a  story  in  the  Arabian  Nights  Tales  of  a  king  who 
had  long  languished  under  an  ill  habit  of  body,  and  had  taken 
abundance  of  remedies  to  no  purpose.  At  length,  says  the  fable, 
a  physician  cured  him  by  the  following  method.  He  took  a  hollow 
ball  of  wood,  and  filled  it  with  several  drugs;  after  which  he  closed  it 
up  so  artificially  that  nothing  appeared.  He  likewise  took  a  mall, 
and  after  having  hollowed  the  handle,  and  that  part  which  strikes 

230 


THE   SPECTATOR 

the  ball,  he  inclosed  in  them  several  drugs  after  the  same  manner 
as  in  the  ball  itself.  He  then  ordered  the  sultan,  who  was  his 
patient,  to  exercise  himself  early  in  the  morning  with  these  rightly- 
prepared  instruments,  till  such  time  as  he  should  sweat:  when,  as 
the  story  goes,  the  virtue  of  the  medicaments  perspiring  through 
the  wood  had  so  good  an  influence  on  the  sultan's  constitution, 
that  they  cured  him  of  an  indisposition  which  all  the  compositions 
he  had  taken  inwardly  had  not  been  able  to  remove.  This  eastern 
allegory  is  finely  contrived  to  show  us  how  beneficial  bodily  labour 
is  to  health,  and  that  exercise  is  the  most  effectual  physic.  I  have 
described  in  my  hundred  and  fifteenth  paper,  from  the  general 
structure  and  mechanism  of  an  human  body,  how  absolutely  nec- 
essary exercise  is  for  its  preservation.  I  shall  in  this  place  recom- 
mend another  great  preservative  of  health,  which  in  many  cases 
produces  the  same  effects  as  exercise,  and  may,  in  some  measure, 
supply  its  place,  where  opportunities  of  exercise  are  wanting. 
The  preservative  I  am  speaking  of  is  temperance,  which  has  those 
particular  advantages  above  all  other  means  of  health,  that  it  may 
be  practised  by  all  ranks  and  conditions,  at  any  season,  or  in  any 
place.  It  is  a  kind  of  regimen  into  which  every  man  may  put  him- 
self, without  interruption  to  business,  expense  of  money,  or  loss  of 
time.  If  exercise  throws  off  all  superfluities,  temperance  prevents 
them;  if  exercise  clears  the  vessels,  temperance  neither  satiates 
nor  overstrains  them;  if  exercise  raises  proper  ferments  in  the 
humours,  and  promotes  the  circulation  of  the  blood,  temperance 
gives  nature  her  full  play,  and  enables  her  to  exert  herself  in  all 
her  force  and  vigour;  if  exercise  dissipates  a  growing  distemper, 
temperance  starves  it. 

Physic,  for  the  most  part,  is  nothing  else  but  the  substitute  of 
exercise  or  temperance.  Medicines  are  indeed  absolutely  neces- 
sary in  acute  distempers,  that  cannot  wait  the  slow  operations  of 
these  two  great  instruments  of  health;  but  did  men  live  in  an 
habitual  course  of  exercise  and  temperance,  there  would  be  but 
little  occasion  for  them.  Accordingly  we  find  that  those  parts  of 
the  world  are  the  most  healthy,  where  they  subsist  by  the  chace; 
and  that  men  live  longest,  when  their  lives  were  employed  in  hunt- 
ing, and  when  they  had  little  food  besides  what  they  caught.  Blis- 
tering, cupping,  bleeding,  are  seldom  of  use  but  to  the  idle  and 
intemperate;  as  all  those  inward  applications  which  are  so  much 
in  practice  among  us,  are  for  the  most  part  nothing  else  but  expe- 

231 


THE    SPECTATOR 

dients  to  make  luxury  consistent  with  health.  The  apothecary  is 
perpetually  employed  in  countermining  the  cook  and  the  vintner. 
It  is  said  of  Diogenes,  that  meeting  a  young  man  who  was  going  to 
a  feast,  he  took  him  up  in  the  street  and  carried  him  home  to  his 
friends,  as  one  who  was  running  into  imminent  danger,  had  not  he 
prevented  him.  What  would  that  philosopher  have  said  had  he 
been  present  at  the  gluttony  of  a  modern  meal?  Would  not  he 
have  thought  the  master  of  a  family  mad,  and  have  begged  his 
servants  to  tie  down  his  hands,  had  he  seen  him  devour  fowl,  fish, 
and  flesh,  swallow  oil  and  vinegar,  wines  and  spices;  throw  down 
salads  of  twenty  different  herbs,  sauces  of  an  hundred  ingredients, 
confections,  and  fruits  of  numberless  sweets  and  flavours?  What 
unnatural  motions  and  counter  ferments  must  such  a  medley  of 
intemperance  produce  in  the  body?  For  my  part,  when  I  behold  a 
fashionable  table  set  out  in  all  its  magnificence,  I  fancy  that  I 
see  gouts  and  dropsies,  fevers  and  lethargies,  with  other  innumer- 
able distempers  lying  in  ambuscade  among  the  dishes. 

Nature  delights  in  the  most  plain  and  simple  diet.  Every  animal 
but  man  keeps  to  one  dish.  Herbs  are  the  food  of  this  species, 
fish  of  that,  and  flesh  of  a  third.  Man  falls  upon  everything  that 
comes  in  his  way;  not  the  smallest  fruit  or  excrescence  of  the  earth, 
scarce  a  berry  or  a  mushroom,  can  escape  him. 

It  is  impossible  to  lay  down  any  determined  rule  for  temperance, 
because  what  is  luxury  in  one  may  be  temperance  in  another,  but 
there  are  few  that  have  lived  any  time  in  the  world,  who  are  not 
judges  of  their  own  constitutions,  so  far  as  to  know  what  kinds  and 
what  proportions  of  food  do  best  agree  with  them.  Were  I  to  con- 
sider my  readers  as  my  patients,  and  to  prescribe  such  a  kind  of 
temperance  as  is  accommodated  to  all  persons,  and  such  as  is  par- 
ticularly suitable  to  our  climate  and  way  of  living,  I  would  copy 
the  following  rules  of  a  very  eminent  physician.  "Make  your 
whole  repast  out  of  one  dish.  If  you  indulge  in  a  second,  avoid 
drinking  anything  strong,  until  you  have  finished  your  meal ;  at  the 
same  time  abstain  from  all  sauces,  or  at  least  such  as  are  not  the 
most  plain  and  simple."  A  man  could  not  be  well  guilty  of  gluttony 
if  he  stuck  to  these  few  obvious  and  easy  rules.  In  the  first  case, 
there  would  be  no  variety  of  tastes  to  solicit  his  palate,  and  occa- 
sion excess;  nor,  in  the  second,  any  artificial  provocatives  to  relieve 
satiety,  and  create  a  false  appetite.  Were  I  to  prescribe  a  rule 
for  drinking,  it  should  be  formed  upon  a  saying  quoted  by  sir 

232 


THE    SPECTATOR 

William  Temple;  "The  first  glass  for  myself,  the  second  for  my 
friends,  the  third  for  good-humour,  and  the  fourth  for  mine  ene- 
mies." But  because  it  is  impossible  fcr  one  who  lives  in  the  world 
to  diet  himself  always  in  so  philosophical  a  manner,  I  think  every 
man  should  have  his  days  of  abstinence,  according  as  his  constitu- 
tion will  permit.  These  are  great  reliefs  to  nature,  as  they  qualify 
her  for  struggling  with  hunger  and  thirst,  whenever  any  distemper 
or  duty  of  life  may  put  her  upon  such  difficulties ;  and  at  the  same 
time  give  her  an  opportunity  of  extricating  herself  from  her  oppres- 
sions, and  recovering  the  several  tones  and  springs  of  her  distended 
vessels.  Besides  that,  abstinence  well-timed  often  kills  a  sick- 
ness in  embryo,  and  destroys  the  first  seeds  of  an  indisposition. 
It  is  observed  by  two  or  three  ancient  authors,  that  Sccrates,  not- 
withstanding he  lived  in  Athens  during  that  great  plague  which 
has  made  so  much  noise  through  all  ages,  and  has  been  celebrated 
at  different  times  by  such  eminent  hands;  I  say,  notwithstanding 
that  he  lived  in  the  time  of  this  devouring  pestilence,  he  never 
caught  the  least  infection,  which  those  writers  unanimously  ascribe 
to  that  uninterrupted  temperance  which  he  always  observed. 

And  here  I  cannot  but  mention  an  observation  which  I  have 
often  made,  upon  reading  the  lives  of  the  philosophers,  and  com- 
paring it  with  any  series  of  kings  or  great  men  of  the  same  number. 
If  we  consider  these  ancient  sages,  a  great  part  of  whose  philosophy 
consisted  in  a  temperate  and  abstemious  course  of  life,  one  would 
think  the  life  of  a  philosopher  and  the  life  of  a  man  were  of  two 
different  dates.  For  we  find  that  the  generality  of  these  wise  men 
were  nearer  a  hundred  than  sixty  years  of  age  at  the  time  of  their 
respective  deaths.  But  the  most  remarkable  instance  of  the  efficacy 
of  temperance  towards  the  procuring  of  long  life,  is  what  we  meet 
with  in  a  little  book  published  by  Lewis  Cornaro  the  Venetian; 
which  I  the  rather  mention,  because  it  is  of  undoubted  credit,  as 
the  late  Venetian  ambassador,  who  was  of  the  same  family,  attested 
mere  than  once  hi  conversation  when  he  resided  in  England. 
Cornaro,  who  was  the  author  cf  the  little  treatise  I  am  mentioning, 
was  of  an  infirm  constitution  until  about  forty,  when,  by  obstinately 
persisting  in  an  exact  course  of  temperance,  he  recovered  a  perfect 
state  cf  health;  insomuch  that  at  fourscore  he  published  his  book, 
which  has  been  translated  into  English  under  the  title  of  "  Sure  and 
Certain  Methods  of  Attaining  a  Long  and  Healthy  Life."  He 
lived  to  give  a  third  or  fourth  edition  of  it ;  and,  after  having  passed 

233 


THE   SPECTATOR 

his  hundredth  year,  died  without  pain  or  agony,  and  like  one  who 
falls  asleep.  The  treatise  I  mention  has  been  taken  notice  of  by 
several  eminent  authors,  and  is  written  with  such  a  spirit  of  cheer- 
fulness, religion,  and  good  sense,  as  are  the  natural  concomitants 
of  temperance  and  sobriety.  The  mixture  of  the  old  man  in  it  is 
rather  a  recommendation  than  a  discredit  to  it. 

Having  designed  this  paper  as  the  sequel  to  that  upon  exercise, 
I  have  not  here  considered  temperance  as  it  is  a  moral  virtue,  which 
I  shall  make  the  subject  of  a  future  speculation,  but  only  as  it  is 
the  means  of  health.  L. 


CHARACTER    OF     THE    SALAMANDERS 

No.  198.]    WEDNESDAY,  OCTOBER  17,  1711.    [ADDISON.] 

Cervae  luporum  praeda  rapacium 

Sectamur  ultro,  quos  opimus 

Fallere  et  effurgere  est  triumphus. — HOR. 

THERE  is  a  species  of  women,  whom  I  shall  distinguish  by 
the  name  of  Salamanders.  Now  a  salamander  is  a  kind 
of  heroine  in  chastity,  that  treads  upon  fire,  and  lives  in  the  midst 
of  flames,  without  being  hurt.  A  salamander  knows  no  distinc- 
tion of  sex  in  those  she  converses  with,  grows  familiar  with  a  stranger 
at  first  sight,  and  is  not  so  narrow-spirited  as  to  observe  whether 
the  person  she  talks  to  be  in  breeches  or  in  petticoats.  She  admits 
a  male  visitant  to  her  bed-side,  plays  with  him  a  whole  afternoon  at 
picquette,  walks  with  him  two  or  three  hours  by  moon -light;  and 
is  extremely  scandalized  at  the  unreasonableness  of  an  husband, 
or  the  severity  of  a  parent,  that  would  debar  the  sex  from  such 
innocent  liberties.  Your  salamander  is  therefore  a  perpetual  de- 
claimer  against  jealousy,  an  admirer  of  the  French  good-breeding, 
and  a  great  stickler  for  freedom  in  conversation.  In  short,  the 
salamander  lives  in  an  invincible  state  of  simplicity  and  innocence : 
her  constitution  is  preserved  in  a  kind  of  natural  frost ;  she  wonders 
what  people  mean  by  temptations,  and  defies  mankind  to  do  their 
worst.  Her  chastity  is  engaged  in  a  constant  ordeal,  or  fiery  trial; 
(like  good  queen  Emma,)  the  pretty  innocent  walks  blindfold 

234 


THE    SPECTATOR 

among  burning  plough-shares,  without  being  scorched  or  singed 
by  them. 

It  is  not  therefore  for  the  use  of  the  salamander,  whether  in  a 
married  or  single  state  of  life,  that  I  design  the  following  paper; 
but  for  such  females  only  as  are  made  of  flesh  and  blood,  and  find 
themselves  subject  to  human  frailties. 

As  for  this  part  of  the  fair  sex,  who  are  not  of  the  salamander 
kind,  I  would  most  earnestly  advise  them  to  observe  a  quite  dif- 
ferent conduct  in  their  behaviour ;  and  to  avoid  as  much  as  possible 
what  religion  calls  temptations,  and  the  world  opportunities.  Did 
they  but  know  how  many  thousands  of  their  sex  have  been  gradu- 
ally betrayed  from  innocent  freedoms  to  ruin  and  infamy;  and  how 
many  millions  of  ours  have  begun  with  flatteries,  protestations,  and 
endearments,  but  ended  with  reproaches,  perjury,  and  perfidious- 
ness;  they  would  shun  like  death  the  very  first  approaches  of  one 
that  might  lead  them  into  inextricable  labyrinths  of  guilt  and  misery. 
I  must  so  far  give  up  the  cause  of  the  male  world,  as  to  exhort  the 
female  sex  in  the  language  of  Chamont  in  the  Orphan, 

Trust  not  a  man;  we  are  by  nature  false, 
Dissembling,  subtle,  cruel,  and  unconstant: 
When  a  man  talks  of  love,  with  caution  trust  him; 
But  if  he  swears,  he'll  certainly  deceive  thee. 

I  might  very  much  enlarge  upon  this  subject,  but  shall  conclude  it 
with  a  story  which  I  lately  heard  from  one  of  our  Spanish  officers, 
and  which  may  show  the  danger  a  woman  incurs  by  too  great 
familiarities  with  a  male  companion. 

An  inhabitant  of  the  kingdom  of  Castile,  being  a  man  of  more 
than  ordinary  prudence,  and  of  a  grave,  composed  behaviour, 
determined  about  the  fiftieth  year  of  his  age  to  enter  upon  wedlock. 
In  order  to  make  himself  easy  in  it,  he  cast  his  eye  upon  a  young 
woman  who  had  nothing  to  recommend  her  but  her  beauty  and  her 
education,  her  parents  having  been  reduced  to  great  poverty  by  the 
wars  which  for  some  years  have  laid  that  whole  country  waste. 
The  Castilian  having  made  his  addresses  to  her  and  married  her, 
they  lived  together  in  perfect  happiness  for  some  time;  when  at 
length  the  husband's  affairs  made  it  necessary  for  him  to  take  a 
voyage  to  the  kingdom  of  Naples,  where  a  great  part  of  his  estate 
lay.  The  wife  loved  him  too  tenderly  to  be  left  behind  him.  They 
had  not  been  on  shipboard  above  a  day,  when  they  unluckily  fell 

235 


THE    SPECTATOR 

into  the  hands  of  an  Algerine  pirate,  who  carried  the  whole  com- 
pany on  shore,  and  made  them  slaves.  The  Castilian  and  his  wife 
had  the  comfort  to  be  under  the  same  master;  who  seeing  how 
dearly  they  loved  one  another,  and  gasped  after  their  liberty,  de- 
manded a  most  exorbitant  price  for  their  ransom.  The  Castilian, 
though  he  would  rather  have  died  in  slavery  himself  than  have  paid 
such  a  sum  as  he  found  would  go  near  to  ruin  him,  was  so  moved 
with  compassion  towards  his  wife,  that  he  sent  repeated  orders  to 
his  friend  in  Spain  (who  happened  to  be  his  next  relation)  to  sell  his 
estate,  and  transmit  the  money  to  him.  His  friend,  hoping  that 
the  terms  of  his  ransom  might  be  made  more  reasonable,  and  un- 
willing to  sell  an  estate  which  he  himself  had  some  prospect  of 
inheriting,  formed  so  many  delays,  that  three  whole  years  passed 
away  without  anything  being  done  for  the  setting  of  them  at  liberty. 

There  happened  to  live  a  French  renegado  in  the  same  place 
where  the  Castilian  and  his  wife  were  kept  prisoners.  As  this  fellow 
had  in  him  all  the  vivacity  of  his  nation,  he  often  entertained  the 
captives  with  accounts  of  his  own  adventures ;  to  which  he  sometimes 
added  a  song  or  a  dance,  or  some  other  piece  of  mirth,  to  divert 
them  during  their  confinement.  His  acquaintance  with  the  manners 
of  the  Algerines  enabled  him  likewise  to  do  them  several  good 
offices.  The  Castilian,  as  he  was  one  day  in  conversation  with  this 
renegado,  discovered  to  him  the  negligence  and  treachery  of  his 
correspondent  in  Castile,  and  at  the  same  time  asked  his  advice 
how  he  should  behave  himself  in  that  exigency:  he  further  told  the 
renegado,  that  he  found  it  would  be  impossible  for  him  to  raise  the 
money,  unless  he  himself  might  go  over  to  dispose  of  his  estate. 
The  renegado,  after  having  represented  to  him  that  his  Algerine 
master  would  never  consent  to  his  release  upon  such  a  pretence,  at 
length  contrived  a  method  for  the  Castilian  to  make  his  escape  in 
the  habit  of  a  seaman.  The  Castilian  succeeded  in  his  attempt ;  and 
having  sold  his  estate,  being  afraid  lest  the  money  should  miscarry 
by  the  way,  and  determining  to  perish  with  it  rather  than  lose  what 
was  much  dearer  to  him  than  his  life,  he  returned  himself  in  a  little 
vessel  that  was  going  to  Algiers.  It  is  impossible  to  describe  the 
joy  he  felt  upon  this  occasion,  when  he  considered  that  he  should 
soon  see  the  wife  whom  he  so  much  loved,  and  endear  himself 
more  to  her  by  this  uncommon  piece  of  generosity. 

The  renegado,  during  the  husband's  absence,  so  insinuated 
himself  into  the  graces  of  his  young  wife,  and  so  turned  her  head 

236 


THE   SPECTATOR 

with  stories  of  gallantry,  that  she  quickly  thought  him  the  finest 
gentleman  she  had  ever  conversed  with.  To  be  brief,  her  mind 
was  quite  alienated  from  the  honest  Castilian,  whom  she  was 
taught  to  look  upon  as  a  formal  old  fellow,  unworthy  the  possession 
of  so  charming  a  creature.  She  had  been  instructed  by  the  renegado 
how  to  manage  herself  upon  his  arrival;  so  that  she  received  him 
with  an  appearance  of  the  utmost  love  and  gratitude,  and  at  length 
persuaded  him  to  trust  their  common  friend  the  renegado  with  the 
money  he  had  brought  over  for  their  ransom;  as  not  questioning 
but  he  would  beat  down  the  terms  of  it,  and  negotiate  the  affair 
more  to  their  advantage  than  they  themselves  could  do.  The  good 
man  admired  her  prudence  and  followed  her  advice.  I  wish  I 
could  conceal  the  sequel  of  this  story,  but  since  I  cannot,  I  shall 
despatch  it  in  as  few  words  as  possible.  The  Castilian  having 
slept  longer  than  ordinary  the  next  morning,  upon  his  awaking 
found  his  wife  had  left  him:  he  immediately  rose  and  inquired 
after  her,  but  was  told  that  she  was  seen  with  the  renegado  about 
break  of  day.  In  a  word,  her  lover  having  got  all  things  ready  for 
their  departure,  they  soon  made  their  escape  out  of  the  territories 
of  Algiers,  carried  away  the  money,  and  left  the  Castilian  in  cap- 
tivity: who  partly  through  the  cruel  treatment  of  the  incensed 
Algerine  his  master,  and  partly  through  the  unkind  usage  of  his 
unfaithful  wife,  died  some  few  months  after. 


SATIRE   ON   WOMEN 

No.  209.]    TUESDAY,  OCTOBER  30,  1711.    [ADDISON.] 

Tvvtuicfc  o&dt  XPVf*    i^p  Xrj/ferat 
*E(T0X77S  &/J&LVOV,   o&St  ftlyiov  KCIKT?;. 

SlMONIDES. 

Of  earthly  goods,  the  best  is  a  good  wife; 
A  bad,  the  bitterest  curse  of  human  life. 

THERE  are  no  authors  I  am  more  pleased  with,  than  those  who 
show  human  nature  in  a  variety  of  views,  and  describe  the 
several  ages  of  the  world  in  their  different  manners.     A  reader 
cannot  be  more  rationally  entertained,  than  by  comparing  the 

237 


THE    SPECTATOR 

virtues  and  vices  of  his  own  times  with  those  which  prevailed  in  the 
times  of  his  forefathers;  and  drawing  a  parallel  in  his  mind  between 
his  own  private  character,  and  that  of  other  persons,  whether  of  his 
own  age,  or  of  the  ages  that  went  before  him.  The  contemplation 
of  mankind,  under  these  changeable  colours,  is  apt  to  shame  us 
out  of  any  particular  vice,  or  animate  us  to  any  particular  virtue; 
to  make  us  pleased  or  displeased  with  ourselves  in  the  most  proper 
points;  to  clear  our  minds  of  prejudice  and  prepossession;  and 
rectify  that  narrowness  of  temper  which  inclines  us  to  think  amiss 
of  those  who  differ  from  ourselves. 

If  we  look  into  the  manners  of  the  most  remote  ages  of  the  world, 
we  discover  human  nature  in  her  simplicity;  and,  the  more  we  come 
downwards  towards  our  own  times,  may  observe  her  hiding  herself 
in  artifices  and  refinements,  polished  insensibly  out  of  her  original 
plainness,  and  at  length,  entirely  lost  under  form  and  ceremony,  and 
(what  we  call)  good-breeding.  Read  the  accounts  of  men  and 
women  as  they  are  given  us  by  the  most  ancient  writers,  both  sacred 
and  profane,  and  you  would  think  you  were  reading  the  history  of 
another  species. 

Among  the  writers  of  antiquity,  there  are  none  who  instruct  us 
more  openly  in  the  manners  of  their  respective  times  in  which  they 
lived,  than  those  who  have  employed  themselves  in  satire,  under 
what  dress  soever  it  may  appear;  as  there  are  no  other  authors  whose 
province  it  is  to  enter  so  directly  into  the  ways  of  men,  and  set  their 
miscarriages  in  so  strong  a  light. 

Simonides,  a  poet  famous  in  his  generation,  is,  I  think,  author 
of  the  oldest  satire  that  is  now  extant;  and,  as  some  say,  of  the  first 
that  was  ever  written.  This  poet  flourished  about  four  hundred 
years  after  the  siege  of  Troy;  and  shows,  by  his  way  of  writing, 
the  simplicity,  or  rather  coarseness,  of  the  age  in  which  he  lived. 
I  have  taken  notice,  in  my  hundred  and  sixty-first  speculation,  that 
the  rule  of  observing  what  the  French  call  the  Bienseance  in  an 
allusion,  has  been  found  out  of  later  years;  and  that  the  ancients, 
provided  there  was  a  likeness  in  their  similitudes,  did  not  much 
trouble  themselves  about  the  decency  of  the  comparison.  The 
satires  or  iambics  of  Simonides,  with  which  I  shall  entertain  my 
readers  in  the  present  paper,  are  a  remarkable  instance  of  what  I 
formerly  advanced.  The  subject  of  this  satire  is  woman.  He 
describes  the  sex  in  their  several  characters,  which  he  derives  to 
them  from  a  fanciful  supposition  raised  upon  the  doctrine  of  pre- 
238 


THE    SPECTATOR 

existence.  He  tells  us,  that  the  gods  formed  the  souls  of  women  out 
of  those  seeds  and  principles  which  compose  several  kinds  of  animals 
and  elements;  and  that  their  good  or  bad  dispositions  arise  in  them 
according  as  such  and  such  seeds  and  principles  predominate  in 
their  constitutions.  I  have  translated  the  author  very  faithfully, 
and  if  not  word  for  word  (which  our  language  would  not  bear),  at 
least  so  as  to  comprehend  every  one  of  his  sentiments,  without 
adding  anything  of  my  own.  I  have  already  apologized  for  this 
author's  want  of  delicacy,  and  must  farther  premise,  that  the 
following  satire  affects  only  some  of  the  lower  part  of  the  sex,  and 
not  those  who  have  been  refined  by  a  polite  education,  which  was 
not  so  common  in  the  age  of  this  poet. 

"In  the  beginning  God  made  the  souls  of  womankind  out  of 
different  materials,  and  in  a  separate  state  from  their  bodies. 

"The  souls  of  one  kind  of  women  were  formed  out  of  those 
ingredients  which  compose  a  swine.  A  woman  of  this  make  is 
a  slut  in  her  house,  and  a  glutton  at  her  table.  She  is  uncleanly 
in  her  person,  a  slattern  in  her  dress,  and  her  family  is  no  better 
than  a  dunghill. 

"  A  second  sort  of  female  soul  was  formed  out  of  the  same  mate- 
rials that  enter  into  the  composition  of  a  fox.  Such  an  one  is  what 
we  call  a  notable  discerning  woman,  who  has  an  insight  into  every 
thing  whether  it  be  good  or  bad.  In  this  species  of  females  there 
are  some  virtuous  and  some  vicious. 

"A  third  kind  of  women  were  made  up  of  canine  particles. 
These  are  what  we  commonly  call  scolds,  who  imitate  the  animals 
out  of  which  they  were  taken,  that  are  always  busy  and  barking, 
that  snarl  at  every  one  who  comes  in  their  way,  and  live  in  perpetual 
clamour. 

"  The  fourth  kind  of  women  were  made  out  of  the  earth.  These 
are  your  sluggards,  who  pass  away  their  time  in  indolence  and  igno- 
rance, hover  over  the  fire  a  whole  winter,  and  apply  themselves 
with  alacrity  to  no  kind  of  business  but  eating. 

"  The  fifth  species  of  females  were  made  out  of  the  sea.  These 
are  women  of  variable  uneven  tempers,  sometimes  all  storm  and 
tempests,  sometimes  all  calm  and  sunshine.  The  stranger  who 
sees  one  of  these  in  her  smiles  and  smoothness,  would  cry  her  up 
for  a  miracle  of  good -humour ;  but  on  a  sudden  her  looks  and  words 
are  changed,  she  is  nothing  but  fury  and  outrage,  noise  and  hurri- 
cane. 

239 


THE    SPECTATOR 

"The  sixth  species  were  made  up  of  the  ingredients  which  com- 
pose an  ass,  or  a  beast  of  burden.  These  are  naturally  exceeding 
slothful,  but,  upon  the  husband's  exerting  his  authority,  will  live 
upon  hard  fare,  and  do  every  thing  to  please  him.  They  are,  how- 
ever, far  from  being  averse  to  venereal  pleasure,  and  seldom  refuse 
a  male  companion. 

"The  cat  furnished  materials  for  a  seventh  species  of  women, 
who  are  of  a  melancholy,  f reward,  unamiable  nature,  and  so  repug- 
nant to  the  offers  of  love,  that  they  fly  in  the  face  of  their  husband 
when  he  approaches  them  with  conjugal  endearments.  This 
species  of  women  are  likewise  subject  to  little  thefts,  cheats,  and 
pilferings. 

"  The  mare  with  a  flowing  mane,  which  was  never  broke  to  any 
servile  toil  and  labour,  composed  an  eighth  species  of  women. 
These  are  they  who  have  little  regard  for  their  husbands ;  who  pass 
away  their  time  in  dressing,  bathing,  and  perfuming;  who  throw 
their  hair  into  the  nicest  curls,  and  trick  it  up  with  the  fairest  flowers 
and  garlands.  A  woman  of  this  species  is  a  very  pretty  thing  for 
a  stranger  to  look  upon,  but  very  detrimental  to  the  owner,  unless 
it  be  a  king  or  a  prince  who  takes  a  fancy  to  such  a  toy. 

"  The  ninth  species  of  females  were  taken  out  of  the  ape.  These 
are  such  as  are  both  ugly  and  ill-natured,  who  have  nothing  beauti- 
ful in  themselves,  and  endeavour  to  detract  from  or  ridicule  every 
thing  which  appears  so  in  others. 

"  The  tenth  and  last  species  of  women  were  made  out  of  the  bee ; 
and  happy  is  the  man  who  gets  such  an  one  for  his  wife.  She  is 
altogether  faultless  and  unblameable.  Her  family  flourishes  and 
improves  by  her  good  management.  She  loves  her  husband,  and 
is  beloved  by  him.  She  brings  him  a  race  of  beautiful  and  virtuous 
children.  She  distinguishes  herself  among  her  sex.  She  is  sur- 
rounded with  graces.  She  never  sits  among  the  loose  tribe  of 
women,  nor  passes  away  her  time  with  them  in  wanton  discourses. 
She  is  full  of  virtue  and  prudence,  and  is  the  best  wife  that  Jupiter 
can  bestow  on  man." 

I  shall  conclude  these  iambics  with  the  motto  of  this  paper, 
which  is  a  fragment  of  the  same  author:  "A  man  cannot  possess 
any  thing  that  is  better  than  a  good  woman,  nor  any  thing  that  is 
worse  than  a  bad  one." 

As  the  poet  has  shown  great  penetration  in  this  diversity  of  female 
characters,  he  has  avoided  the  fault  which  Juvenal  and  Monsieur 

240 


THE   SPECTATOR 

Boileau  are  guilty  of,  the  former  in  his  sixth,  and  the  other  in  his 
last  satire,  where  they  have  endeavoured  to  expose  the  sex  in  gen- 
eral, without  doing  justice  to  the  valuable  part  of  it.  Such  level- 
ling satires  are  of  no  use  to  the  world;  and  for  this  reason  I  have 
often  wondered  how  the  French  author,  above-mentioned,  who 
was  a  man  of  exquisite  judgment,  and  a  lover  of  virtue,  could  think 
human  nature  a  proper  subject  for  satire  in  another  of  his  cele- 
brated pieces,  which  is  called  The  Satire  upon  Man.  What  vice 
or  frailty  can  a  discourse  correct  which  censures  the  whole  species 
alike,  and  endeavours  to  show,  by  some  superficial  strokes  of  wit, 
that  brutes  are  the  more  excellent  creatures  of  the  two  ?  A  satire 
should  expose  nothing  but  what  is  corrigible,  and  make  a  due  dis- 
crimination between  those  who  are,  and  those  who  are  not  the 
proper  object  of  it.  L. 


ON   EDUCATION 

No.  215.]    TUESDAY,  NOVEMBER  6,  1711.    [ADDISON.| 

—  Ingenuas  didicisse  fideliter  artes 
Emollit  mores,  nee  sinit  esse  feros. — OVID. 

I  CONSIDER  an  human  soul  without  education,  like  marble 
in  the  quarry,  which  shows  none  of  its  inherent  beauties,  till 
the  skill  of  the  polisher  fetches  out  the  colours,  makes  the  surface 
shine,  and  discovers  every  ornamental  cloud,  spot,  and  vein,  that 
runs  through  the  body  of  it.  Education,  after  the  same  manner, 
when  it  works  upon  a  noble  mind,  draws  out  to  view  every  latent  vir- 
tue and  perfection,  which  without  such  helps  are  never  able  to  make 
their  appearance. 

If  my  reader  will  give  me  leave  to  change  the  allusion  so  soon 
upon  him,  I  shall  make  use  of  the  same  instance  to  illustrate  the 
force  of  education,  which  Aristotle  has  brought  to  explain  his  doc- 
trine of  substantial  forms,  when  he  tells  us  that  a  statue  lies  hid  in  a 
block  of  marble ;  and  that  the  art  of  the  statuary  only  clears  away 
the  superfluous  matter,  and  removes  the  rubbish.  The  figure  is  in 
the  stone,  the  sculptor  only  finds  it.  What  sculpture  is  to  a  block  of 
marble,  education  is  to  an  human  soul.  The  philosopher,  the  saint, 
or  the  hero,  the  wise,  the  good,  or  the  great  man,  very  often  lie  hid 

241 


THE   SPECTATOR 

and  concealed  in  a  plebeian,  which  a  proper  education  might  have 
disinterred,  and  have  brought  to  light.  I  am,  therefore,  much  de- 
lighted with  reading  the  accounts  of  savage  nations,  and  with  con- 
templating those  virtues  which  are  wild  and  uncultivated;  to  see 
courage  exerting  itself  hi  fierceness,  resolution  in  obstinacy,  wisdom 
in  cunning,  patience  in  sullenness  and  despair. 

Men's  passions  operate  variously,  and  appear  in  different  kinds 
of  actions,  according  as  they  are  more  or  less  rectified  and  swayed  by 
reason.  When  one  hears  of  negroes,  who,  upon  the  death  of  their 
masters,  or  upon  changing  their  service,  hang  themselves  upon  the 
next  tree,  as  it  frequently  happens  in  our  American  plantations,  who 
can  forbear  admiring  their  fidelity,  though  it  expresses  itself  in  so 
dreadful  a  manner  ?  What  might  not  that  savage  greatness  of  soul, 
which  appears  hi  these  poor  wretches,  on  many  occasions,  be  raised 
to,  were  it  rightly  cultivated  ?  And  what  colour  of  excuse  can  there 
be  for  the  contempt  with  which  we  treat  this  part  of  our  species, 
that  we  should  not  put  them  upon  the  common  foot  of  humanity, 
that  we  should  only  set  an  insignificant  fine  upon  the  man  who 
murders  them;  nay,  that  we  should,  as  much  as  in  us  lies,  cut  them 
off  from  the  prospect  of  happiness  in  another  world,  as  well  as  hi 
this,  and  deny  them  that  which  we  look  upon  as  the  proper  means 
for  attaining  it? 

Since  I  am  engaged  on  this  subject,  I  cannot  forbear  mentioning 
a  story  which  I  have  lately  heard,  and  which  is  so  well  attested,  that 
I  have  no  manner  of  reason  to  suspect  the  truth  of  it :  I  may  call  it 
a  kind  of  wild  tragedy  that  passed  about  twelve  years  ago  at  St. 
Christopher's,  one  of  our  British  Leeward  Islands.  The  negroes 
who  were  concerned  in  it  were  all  of  them  the  slaves  of  a  gentleman 
who  is  now  in  England. 

This  gentleman,  among  his  negroes,  had  a  young  woman,  who 
was  looked  upon  as  a  most  extraordinary  beauty  by  those  of  her  own 
complexion.  He  had  at  the  same  time  two  young  fellows,  who 
were  likewise  negroes  and  slaves,  remarkable  for  the  comeliness  of 
their  persons,  and  for  the  friendship  which  they  bore  to  one  another. 
It  unfortunately  happened  that  both  of  them  fell  in  love  with  the 
female  negro  above-mentioned,  who  would  have  been  very  glad  to 
have  taken  either  of  them  for  her  husband,  provided  they  could 
agree  between  themselves  which  should  be  the  man.  But  they 
were  both  so  passionately  hi  love  with  her,  that  neither  of  them 
could  think  of  giving  her  up  to  his  rival;  and  at  ihe  same  time  were 

242 


THE    SPECTATOR 

so  true  to  one  another,  that  neither  of  them  would  think  of  gaining 
her  without  his  friend's  consent.  The  torments  of  these  two  lovers 
were  the  discourse  of  the  family  to  which  they  belonged,  who  could 
not  forbear  observing  the  strange  complication  of  passions  which 
perplexed  the  hearts  of  the  poor  negroes,  that  often  dropped  expres- 
sions of  the  uneasiness  they  underwent,  and  how  impossible  it  was 
for  either  of  them  ever  to  be  happy. 

After  a  long  struggle  between  love  and  friendship,  truth  and 
jealousy,  they  one  day  took  a  walk  together  into  a  wood,  carrying 
their  mistress  along  with  them;  where,  after  abundance  of  lamenta- 
tions, they  stabbed  her  to  the  heart,  of  which  she  immediately  died. 
A  slave,  who  was  at  his  work  not  far  from  the  place  where  this  aston- 
ishing piece  of  cruelty  was  committed,  hearing  the  shrieks  of  the 
dying  person,  ran  to  see  what  was  the  occasion  of  them.  He  there 
discovered  the  woman  lying  dead  upon  the  ground,  with  the  two 
negroes  on  each  side  of  her  kissing  the  dead  corpse,  weeping  over  it, 
and  beating  their  breasts  in  the  utmost  agonies  of  grief  and  despair. 
He  immediately  ran  to  the  English  family  with  the  news  of  what  he 
had  seen;  who,  upon  coming  to  the  place,  saw  the  woman  dead,  and 
the  two  negroes  expiring  by  her  with  wounds  they  had  given  them- 
selves. 

We  see  in  this  amazing  instance  of  barbarity,  what  strange  dis- 
orders are  bred  in  the  minds  of  those  men  whose  passions  are  not 
regulated  by  virtue,  and  disciplined  by  reason.  Though  the  action 
which  I  have  recited  is  in  itself  full  of  guilt  and  horror,  it  proceeded 
from  a  temper  of  mind  which  might  have  produced  very  noble  fruits, 
had  it  been  formed  and  guided  by  a  suitable  education. 

It  is,  therefore,  an  unspeakable  blessing  to  be  born  in  those  parts 
of  the  world  where  wisdom  and  knowledge  flourish;  though  it  must 
be  confessed,  there  are,  even  in  these  parts,  several  poor  uninstructed 
persons,  who  are  but  little  above  the  inhabitants  of  those  nations  of 
which  I  have  been  here  speaking;  as  those  who  have  had  the  ad- 
vantages of  a  more  liberal  education,  rise  above  one  another  by  sev- 
eral different  degrees  of  perfection.  For,  to  return  to  our  statue  in 
the  block  of  marble,  we  see  it  sometimes  only  begun  to  be  chipped, 
sometimes  rough-hewn,  and  but  just  sketched  into  an  human  figure; 
sometimes  we  see  the  man  appearing  distinctly  in  all  his  limbs  and 
features,  sometimes  we  find  the  figure  wrought  up  to  a  great  ele- 
gancy, but  seldom  meet  with  any  to  which  the  hand  of  a  Phidias  or 
a  Praxiteles  could  not  give  several  nice  touches  and  finishings. 

243 


THE    SPECTATOR 

Discourses  of  morality,  and  reflections  upon  human  nature,  are 
the  best  means  we  can  make  use  of  to  improve  our  minds,  and 
gain  a  true  knowledge  of  ourselves,  and  consequently  to  recover 
our  souls  out  of  the  vice,  ignorance,  and  prejudice,  which  naturally 
cleave  to  them.  I  have  all  along  professed  myself  in  this  paper  a 
promoter  of  these  great  ends;  and  I  flatter  myself  that  I  do  from 
day  to  day  contribute  something  to  the  polishing  of  men's  minds; 
at  least  my  design  is  laudable,  whatever  the  execution  may  be.  I 
must  confess  I  am  not  a  little  encouraged  in  it  by  many  letters  which 
I  receive  from  unknown  hands,  in  approbation  of  my  endeavours; 
and  must  take  this  opportunity  of  returning  my  thanks  to  those 
who  write  them,  and  excusing  myself  for  not  inserting  several  of 
them  in  my  papers,  which  I  am  sensible  would  be  a  very  great 
ornament  to  them.  Should  I  publish  the  praises  which  are  so 
well  penned,  they  would  do  honour  to  the  persons  who  write  them ; 
but  my  publishing  of  them  would,  I  fear,  be  a  sufficient  instance  to 
the  world,  that  I  did  not  deserve  them. 


THE    CRIES   OF    LONDON 

No.  251.]    TUESDAY,  DECEMBER  18,  1711.    [ADDISON.] 

—  Linguae  centum  sunt,  oraque  centum, 

Ferrea  vox.  VIRG.  ^EN.  vi.  625. 

A  hundred  mouths,  a  hundred  tongues, 
And  throats  of  brass  inspir'd  with  iron  lungs. 

THERE  is  nothing  which  more  astonishes  a  foreigner,  and 
frights  a  country  squire,  than  the  Cries  of  London.  My 
good  friend  Sir  Roger  often  declares  that  he  cannot  get  them  out 
of  his  head,  or  go  to  sleep  for  them,  the  first  week  that  he  is  in 
town.  On  the  contrary,  Will  Honeycomb  calls  them  the  Ramage 
de  la  Ville,  and  prefers  them  to  the  sounds  of  larks  and  nightin- 
gales, with  all  the  music  of  the  fields  and  woods.  I  have  lately 
received  a  letter  from  some  very  odd  fellow  upon  this  subject, 
which  I  shall  leave  with  my  reader,  without  saying  any  thing 
farther  of  it. 

244 


THE   SPECTATOR 

"  SIR,  —  I  am  a  man  out  of  all  business,  and  would  willingly  turn 
my  hand  to  any  thing  for  an  honest  livelihood.  I  have  invented 
several  projects  for  raising  many  millions  of  money  without  burden- 
ing the  subject,  but  I  cannot  get  the  parliament  to  listen  to  me,  who 
look  upon  me,  forsooth,  as  a  crack  and  a  projector;  so  that,  despair- 
ing to  enrich  either  myself  or  my  country  by  this  public-spiritedness, 
I  would  make  some  proposals  to  you  relating  to  a  design  which  I 
have  very  much  at  heart,  and  which  may  procure  me  a  handsome 
subsistence,  if  you  will  be  pleased  to  recommend  it  to  the  cities  of 
London  and  Westminster. 

"The  post  I  would  aim  at,  is  to  be  Comptroller-General  of  the 
London  Cries,  which  are  at  present  under  no  manner  of  rules  and 
discipline.  I  think  I  am  pretty  well  qualified  for  this  place,  as  being 
a  man  of  very  strong  lungs,  of  great  insight  into  all  the  branches  of 
our  British  trades  and  manufactures,  and  of  a  competent  skill  in 
music. 

"The  Cries  of  London  may  be  divided  into  vocal  and  instru- 
mental. As  for  the  latter,  they  are  at  present  under  a  very  great 
disorder.  A  freeman  of  London  has  the  privilege  of  disturbing  a 
whole  street  for  an  hour  together,  with  the  twanking  of  a  brass 
kettle  or  frying-pan.  The  watchman's  thump  at  midnight  startles 
us  in  our  beds,  as  much  as  the  breaking  in  of  a  thief.  The  sow- 
gelder's  horn  has  indeed  something  musical  in  it,  but  this  is  seldom 
heard  within  the  liberties.  I  would  therefore  propose,  that  no 
instrument  of  this  nature  should  be  made  use  of,  which  I  have  not 
tuned  and  licensed,  after  having  carefully  examined  in  what  manner 
it  may  affect  the  ears  of  her  Majesty's  liege  subjects. 

"Vocal  cries  are  of  a  much  larger  extent,  and  indeed  so  full  of 
incongruities  and  barbarisms,  that  we  appear  a  distracted  city  to 
foreigners,  who  do  not  comprehend  the  meaning  of  such  enormous 
outcries.  Milk  is  generally  sold  in  a  note  above  E-la,  and  in  sounds 
so  exceeding  shrill,  that  it  often  sets  our  teeth  on  edge.  The 
chimney-sweeper  is  confined  to  no  certain  pitch;  he  sometimes 
utters  himself  in  the  deepest  base,  and  sometimes  in  the  sharpest 
treble;  sometimes  in  the  highest,  and  sometimes  in  the  lowest  note 
of  the  gamut.  The  same  observation  might  be  made  on  the  retailers 
of  small-coal,  not  to  mention  broken  glasses  or  brick-dust.  In 
these,  therefore,  and  the  like  cases,  it  should  be  my  care  to  sweeten 
and  mellow  the  voices  of  these  itinerant  tradesmen,  before  they 
make  their  appearance  in  our  streets,  as  also  to  accommodate  their 

245 


THE   SPECTATOR 

cries  to  their  respective  wares:  and  to  take  care  in  particular,  that 
those  may  not  make  the  most  noise  who  have  the  least  to  sell, 
which  is  very  observable  in  the  vendors  of  card-matches,  to  whom 
I  cannot  but  apply  the  old  proverb  of  '  Much  cry  but  little  wool.' 

"  Some  of  these  last-mentioned  musicians  are  so  very  loud  in  the 
sale  of  these  trifling  manufactures,  that  an  honest  splenetic  gentle- 
man of  my  acquaintance  bargained  with  one  of  them  never  to  come 
into  the  street  where  he  lived.  But  what  was  the  effect  of  this 
contract?  Why,  the  whole  tribe  of  card  match-makers,  which 
frequent  that  quarter,  passed  by  his  door  the  very  next  day,  in  hopes 
of  being  bought  off  after  the  same  manner. 

"It  is  another  great  imperfection  in  our  London  Cries,  that 
there  is  no  just  time  nor  measure  observed  in  them.  Our  news 
should  indeed  be  published  in  a  very  quick  time,  because  it  is  a 
commodity  that  will  not  keep  cold.  It  should  not,  however,  be 
cried  with  the  same  precipitation  as  fire.  Yet  this  is  generally  the 
case.  A  bloody  battle  alarms  the  town  from  one  end  to  another  in 
an  instant.  Every  motion  of  the  French  is  published  in  so  great  a 
hurry,  that  one  would  think  the  enemy  were  at  our  gates.  This 
likewise  I  would  take  upon  me  to  regulate  in  such  a  manner,  that 
there  should  be  some  distinction  made  between  the  spreading  of  a 
victory,  a  march,  or  an  encampment,  a  Dutch,  a  Portugal,  or  a 
Spanish  mail.  Nor  must  I  omit  under  this  head  those  excessive 
alarms  with  which  several  boisterous  rustics  infest  our  streets  in 
turnip-season;  and  which  are  more  inexcusable,  because  these  are 
wares  which  are  in  no  danger  of  cooling  upon  their  hands. 

"There  are  others  who  affect  a  very  slow  time,  and  are  in  my 
opinion  much  more  tuneable  than  the  former.  The  cooper  in 
particular  swells  his  last  note  in  an  hollow  voice,  that  is  not  without 
its  harmony;  nor  can  I  forbear  being  inspired  with  a  most  agreeable 
melancholy,  when  I  hear  that  sad  and  solemn  air  with  which  the 
public  are  very  often  asked,  if  they  have  any  chairs  to  mend  ?  Your 
own  memory  may  suggest  to  you  many  other  lamentable  ditties  of 
the  same  nature,  in  which  the  music  is  wonderfully  languishing 
and  melodious. 

"  I  am  always  pleased  with  that  particular  time  of  the  year  which 
is  proper  for  the  pickling  of  dill  and  cucumbers;  but,  alas!  this 
cry,  like  the  song  of  the  nightingale,  is  not  heard  above  two  months. 
It  would  therefore  be  worth  while  to  consider,  whether  the  same  air 
might  not  in  some  cases  be  adapted  to  other  words. 

246 


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THE    SPECTATOR 

"It  might  likewise  deserve  our  most  serious  consideration,  how 
far,  in  a  well-regulated  city,  those  humourists  are  to  be  tolerated, 
who,  not  contented  with  the  traditional  cries  of  their  forefathers, 
have  invented  particular  songs  and  tunes  of  their  own ;  such  as  was, 
not  many  years  since,  the  pastryman,  commonly  known  by  the 
name  of  the  Colly-Molly-Puff;  and  such  as  is  at  this  day  the  vendor 
of  powder  and  wash-balls,  who,  if  I  am  rightly  informed,  goes  under 
the  name  of  Powder- Wat. 

"  I  must  not  here  omit  one  particular  absurdity  which  runs  through 
this  whole  vociferous  generation,  and  which  renders  their  cries  very 
often  not  only  incommodious,  but  altogether  useless  to  the  public. 
I  mean  that  idle  accomplishment,  which  they  all  of  them  aim  at, 
of  crying  so  as  not  to  be  understood.  Whether  or  not  they  have 
learned  this  from  several  of  our  affected  singers,  I  will  not  take  upon 
me  to  say;  but  most  certain  it  is,  that  people  know  the  wares  they 
deal  in  rather  by  their  tunes  than  by  their  words;  insomuch  that  I 
have  sometimes  seen  a  country  boy  run  out  to  buy  apples  of  a  bellows 
mender,  and  ginger-bread  from  a  grinder  of  knives  and  scissors. 
Nay,  so  strangely  infatuated  are  some  very  eminent  artists  of  this 
particular  grace  in  a  cry,  that  none  but  their  acquaintance  are  able 
to  guess  at  their  profession ;  for  who  else  can  know,  that '  work  if  I 
had  it,'  should  be  the  signification  of  a  corn-cutter. 

"  Forasmuch,  therefore,  as  persons  of  this  rank  are  seldom  men 
of  genius  or  capacity,  I  think  it  would  be  proper  that  some  man  of 
good  sense  and  profound  judgment  should  preside  over  these  public 
cries,  who  should  permit  none  to  lift  up  their  voices  in  our  streets, 
that  have  not  tuneable  throats,  and  are  not  only  able  to  overcome 
the  noise  of  the  crowd,  and  the  rattling  of  coaches,  but  also  to  vend 
their  respective  merchandizes  in  apt  phrases,  and  in  the  most  dis- 
tinct and  agreeable  sounds.  I  do  therefore  humbly  recommend 
myself  as  a  person  rightly  qualified  for  this  post;  and,  if  I  meet 
with  fitting  encouragement,  shall  communicate  some  other  projects 
which  I  have  by  me,  that  may  no  less  conduce  to  the  emolument  of 
the  public. 

"I  am,  Sir,  &c. 

C  "RALPH  CROTCHET." 


247 


THE    SPECTATOR 

THE   SPECTATOR'S   SUCCESS 

No.  262.]    MONDAY,  DECEMBER  31,  1711.    [ADDISON.] 

Nulla  venenato  littera  mista  joco  est. —  OVID. 

I  THINK  myself  highly  obliged   to  the   public  for  their  kind 
acceptance  of  a  paper  which  visits  them  every  morning,  and 
has  in  it  none  of  those  seasonings  that  recommend  so  many  of  the 
writings  which  are  in  vogue  among  us. 

As,  on  the  one  side,  my  paper  has  not  in  it  a  single  word  of  news, 
a  reflection  in  politics,  nor  a  stroke  of  party;  so,  on  the  other,  there 
are  no  fashionable  touches  of  infidelity,  no  obscene  ideas,  no  satires 
upon  priesthood,  marriage,  and  the  like  popular  topics  of  ridicule; 
no  private  scandal,  nor  anything  that  may  tend  to  the  defamation 
of  particular  persons,  families,  or  societies. 

There  is  not  one  of  these  above-mentioned  subjects  that  would 
not  sell  a  very  indifferent  paper,  could  I  think  of  gratifying  the 
public  by  such  mean  and  base  methods;  but,  notwithstanding  I 
have  rejected  everything  that  savours  of  party,  everything  that 
is  loose  and  immoral,  and  everything  that  might  create  uneasiness 
in  the  minds  of  particular  persons,  I  find  that  the  demand  of  my 
papers  has  increased  every  month  since  their  first  appearance  in 
the  world.  This  does  not,  perhaps,  reflect  so  much  honour  upon 
myself,  as  on  my  readers,  who  give  a  much  greater  attention  to 
discourses  of  virtue  and  morality,  than  ever  I  expected,  or  indeed 
could  hope. 

When  I  broke  loose  from  that  great  body  of  writers  who  have 
employed  their  wit  and  parts  in  propagating  of  vice  and  irreligion, 
I  did  not  question  but  I  should  be  treated  as  an  odd  kind  of  fellow 
that  had  a  mind  to  appear  singular  in  my  way  of  writing:  but  the 
general  reception  I  have  found,  convinces  me  that  the  world  is  not 
so  corrupt  as  we  are  apt  to  imagine ;  and  that  if  those  men  of  parts 
who  have  been  employed  in  vitiating  the  age  had  endeavoured  to 
rectify  and  amend  it,  they  needed  not  have  sacrificed  their  good 
sense  and  virtue  to  their  fame  and  reputation.  No  man  is  so  sunk 
in  vice  and  ignorance,  but  there  are  still  some  hidden  seeds  of  good- 
ness and  knowledge  in  him;  which  give  him  a  relish  of  such  reflec- 
tions and  speculations  as  have  an  aptness  to  improve  the  mind, 
and  to  make  the  heart  better. 

248 


THE    SPECTATOR 

I  have  shown  in  a  former  paper,  with  how  much  care  I  have 
avoided  all  such  thoughts  as  are  loose,  obscene,  or  immoral;  and 
I  believe  my  reader  would  still  think  the  better  of  me,  if  he  knew 
the  pains  I  am  at  in  qualifying  what  I  write  after  such  a  manner, 
that  nothing  may  be  interpreted  as  aimed  at  private  persons.  For 
this  reason,  when  I  draw  any  faulty  character,  I  consider  all  those 
persons  to  whom  the  malice  of  the  world  may  possibly  apply  it, 
and  take  care  to  dash  it  with  such  particular  circumstances  as  may 
prevent  all  such  ill-natured  applications.  If  I  write  anything  on 
a  black  man.  I  run  over  in  my  mind  all  the  eminent  persons  in  the 
nation  who  are  of  that  complexion:  when  I  place  an  imaginary 
name  at  the  head  of  a  character,  I  examine  every  syllable  and  letter 
of  it,  that  it  may  not  bear  any  resemblance  to  one  that  is  real.  I 
know  very  well  the  value  which  every  man  sets  upon  his  reputation, 
and  how  painful  it  is  to  be  exposed  to  the  mirth  and  derision  of  the 
public,  and  should  therefore  scorn  to  divert  my  reader  at  the  expense 
of  any  private  man. 

As  I  have  been  thus  tender  of  every  particular  person's  reputa- 
tion, so  I  have  taken  more  than  ordinary  care  not  to  give  offence 
to  those  who  appear  in  the  higher  figures  of  life.  I  would  not 
make  myself  merry  even  with  a  piece  of  pasteboard  that  is  invested 
with  a  public  character;  for  which  reason  I  have  never  glanced 
upon  the  late  designed  procession  of  his  Holiness  and  his  atten- 
dants, notwithstanding  it  might  have  afforded  matter  to  many  ludi- 
crous speculations.  Among  those  advantages  which  the  public 
may  reap  from  this  paper,  it  is  not  the  least,  that  it  draws  men's 
minds  off  from  the  bitterness  of  party,  and  furnishes  them  with 
subjects  of  discourse  that  may  be  treated  without  warmth  or  pas- 
sion. This  is  said  to  have  been  the  first  design  of  those  gentlemen 
who  set  on  foot  the  Royal  Society;  and  had  then  a  very  good  effect, 
as  it  turned  many  of  the  greatest  geniuses  of  that  age  to  the  dis- 
quisitions of  natural  knowledge,  who,  if  they  had  engaged  in  poli- 
tics with  the  same  parts  and  application,  might  have  set  their 
country  in  a  flame.  The  air-pump,  the  barometer,  the  quadrant, 
and  the  like  inventions,  were  thrown  out  to  those  busy  spirits,  as 
tubs  and  barrels  are  to  a  whale,  that  he  may  let  the  ship  sail  on 
without  disturbance,  while  he  diverts  himself  with  those  innocent 
amusements. 

I  have  been  so  very  scrupulous  in  this  particular  of  not  hurting 
any  man's  reputation,  that  I  have  forborne  mentioning  even  such 

249 


THE   SPECTATOR 

authors  as  I  could  not  name  with  honour.  This  I  must  confess  to 
have  been  a  piece  of  very  great  self-denial:  for  as  the  public  relishes 
nothing  better  than  the  ridicule  which  turns  upon  a  writer  of  any 
eminence,  so  there  is  nothing  which  a  man  that  has  but  a  very  ordi- 
nary talent  in  ridicule  may  execute  with  greater  ease.  One  might 
raise  laughter  for  a  quarter  of  a  year  together  upon  the  works  of  a 
person  who  has  published  but  a  very  few  volumes.  For  which 
reason  I  am  astonished,  that  those  who  have  appeared  against  this 
paper  have  made  so  very  little  of  it.  The  criticisms  which  I  have 
hitherto  published,  have  been  made  with  an  intention  rather  to  dis- 
cover beauties  and  excellencies  in  the  writers  of  my  own  time,  than  to 
publish  any  of  their  faults  and  imperfections.  In  the  mean  while, 
I  should  take  if  for  a  very  great  favour  from  some  of  my  underhand 
detractors,  it  they  would  break  all  measures  with  me  so  far,  as  to 
give  me  a  pretence  for  examining  their  performances  with  an  im- 
partial eye;  nor  shall  I  look  upon  it  as  a  breach  of  charity  to  criti- 
cise the  author,  so  long  as  I  keep  clear  of  the  person. 

In  the  meanwhile,  till  lam  provoked  to  such  hostilities,  I  shall  from 
time  to  time  endeavour  to  do  justice  to  those  who  have  distinguished 
themselves  in  the  politer  parts  of  learning,  and  to  point  out  such 
beauties  in  their  works  as  may  have  escaped  the  observation  of  others. 

As  the  first  place  among  our  English  poets  is  due  to  Milton,  and 
as  I  have  drawn  more  quotations  out  of  him  than  from  any  other,  I 
shall  enter  into  a  regular  criticism  upon  his  Paradise  Lost,  which  I 
shall  publish  every  Saturday,  till  I  have  given  my  thoughts  upon 
that  poem.  I  shall  not,  however,  presume  to  impose  upon  others  my 
own  particular  judgment  on  this  author,  but  only  deliver  it  as  my 
private  opinion.  Criticism  is  of  a  large  extent,  and  every  particu- 
lar master  in  this  art  has  his  favourite  passages  in  an  author,  which 
do  not  equally  strike  the  best  judges.  It  will  be  sufficient  for  me 
if  I  discover  many  beauties  or  imperfections  which  others  have  not 
attended  to,  and  I  should  be  very  glad  to  see  any  of  our  eminent 
writers  publish  their  discoveries  on  the  same  subject.  In  short,  I 
would  always  be  understood  to  write  my  papers  of  criticism  in  the 
spirit  which  Horace  has  expressed  in  those  famous  lines; 

—  Si  quid  novisti  rectius  istis, 
Candidas  imperti;  si  non,  his  utere  mecum. 

If  you  have  made  any  better  remarks  of  your  own,  communicate 
them  with  candour ;  if  not,  make  use  of  these  I  present  you  with, 

250 


THE   SPECTATOR 


PIN-MONEY 

No.  295.]    THURSDAY,  FEBRUARY  7,  1711-12.    [ADDISON.] 

Prodiga  non  sentit  pereuntem  foemina  censum: 

At  velut  exhausta  redivivus  pullulet  area 

Nummus,  et  fe  pleno  semper  tollatur  acervo, 

Non  unquam  reputat  quanti  sibi  gaudia  constent. — Jov. 

MR.  SPECTATOR,  —  I  am  turned  of  my  great  climacteric, 
and  am  naturally  a  man  of  a  meek  temper.  About  a  dozen 
years  ago  I  was  married,  for  my  sins,  to  a  young  woman  of  a  good 
family,  and  of  an  high  spirit;  but  could  not  bring  her  to  close  with 
me,  before  I  had  entered  into  a  treaty  with  her  longer  than  that  of 
the  grand  alliance.  Among  other  articles,  it  was  therein  stipulated 
that  she  should  have  £400  a  year  for  pin  money,  which  I  obliged 
myself  to  pay  quarterly  into  the  hands  of  one  who  acted  as  her  pleni- 
potentiary in  that  affair.  I  have  ever  since  religiously  observed  my 
part  in  this  solemn  agreement.  Now,  sir,  so  it  is,  that  the  lady  has 
had  several  children  since  I  married  her;  to  which,  if  I  should  credit 
our  malicious  neighbours,  her  pin-money  has  not  a  little  contributed. 
The  education  of  these  my  children,  who,  contrary  to  my  expecta- 
tion, are  born  to  me  every  year,  straitens  me  so  much,  that  I  have 
begged  their  mother  to  free  me  from  the  obligation  of  the  above- 
mentioned  pin-money,  that  it  may  go  towards  making  a  provision 
for  her  family.  This  proposal  makes  her  noble  blood  swell  in  her 
veins,  insomuch  that  finding  me  a  little  tardy  in  her  last  quarter's 
payment,  she  threatens  me  every  day  to  arrest  me;  and  proceeds  so 
far  as  to  tell  me,  that  if  I  do  not  do  her  justice,  I  shall  die  in  a  jail.  To 
this  she  adds,  when  her  passion  will  let  her  argue  calmly,  that  she 
has  several  play-debts  on  her  hand,  which  must  be  discharged  very 
suddenly,  and  that  she  cannot  lose  her  money  as  becomes  a  woman 
of  her  fashion,  if  she  makes  me  any  abatements  in  this  article.  I 
hope,  sir,  you  will  take  an  occasion  from  hence  to  give  your  opinion 
upon  a  subject  which  you  have  not  yet  touched,  and  inform  us  if 
there  are  any  precedents  for  this  usage  among  our  ancestors;  or 
whether  you  find  any  mention  of  pin-money  in  Grotius,  Puffendorf, 
or  any  other  of  the  civilians. 

"  I  am  ever  the  humblest  of  your  admirers, 

JOSIAH  FRIBBLE,  Esq." 

251 


THE   SPECTATOR 

As  there  is  no  man  living  who  is  a  more  professed  advocate  for 
the  fair  sex  than  myself,  so  there  is  none  that  would  be  more  unwil- 
ling to  invade  any  of  their  ancient  rights  and  privileges;  but  as  the 
doctrine  of  phi-money  is  of  a  very  late  date,  unknown  to  our  great- 
grandmothers,  and  not  yet  received  by  many  of  our  modern  ladies,  I 
think  it  is  for  the  interest  of  both  sexes  to  keep  it  from  spreading. 

Mr.  Fribble  may  not,  perhaps,  be  much  mistaken  where  he  inti- 
mates, that  the  supplying  a  man's  wife  with  pin  money,  is  furnishing 
her  with  arms  against  himself,  and  in  a  manner  becoming  accessory 
to  his  own  dishonour.  We  may,  indeed,  generally  observe,  that  in 
proportion  as  a  woman  is  more  or  less  beautiful,  and  her  husband 
advanced  hi  years,  she  stands  in  need  of  a  greater  or  less  number 
of  pins,  and  upon  a  treaty  of  marriage  rises  or  falls  in  her  demands 
accordingly.  It  must  likewise  be  owned,  that  high  quality  in  a 
mistress  does  very  much  inflame  this  article  hi  the  marriage  reckon- 
ing. 

But  where  the  age  and  circumstances  of  both  parties  are  pretty 
much  upon  a  level,  I  cannot  but  think  the  insisting  upon  pin-money 
is  very  extraordinary;  and  yet  we  find  several  matches  broken  off 
upon  this  very  head.  What  would  a  foreigner,  or  one  who  is  a 
stranger  to  this  practice,  think  of  a  lover  that  forsakes  his  mistress, 
because  he  is  not  willing  to  keep  her  in  phis;  but  what  would  he 
think  of  the  mistress,  should  he  be  informed  that  she  asks  five  or 
six  hundred  pounds  a  year  for  this  use  ?  Should  a  man  unacquainted 
with  our  customs  be  told  the  sums  which  are  allowed  in  Great 
Britain,  under  the  title  of  pin-money,  what  a  prodigious  consumption 
of  pins  would  he  think  there  was  in  this  island !  "  A  pin  a  day  (says 
our  frugal  proverb)  is  a  great  a  year;"  so  that  according  to  this 
calculation,  my  friend  Fribble's  wife  must  every  year  make  use 
of  eight  millions  six  hundred  and  forty  thousand  new  pins. 

I  am  not  ignorant  that  our  British  ladies  allege  they  comprehend 
under  this  general  term  several  other  conveniences  of  life;  I  could 
therefore  wish,  for  the  honour  of  my  country-women,  that  they  had 
rather  called  it  needle-money,  which  might  have  implied  something 
of  good-housewifery,  and  not  have  given  the  malicious  world  occa- 
sion to  think,  that  dress  and  trifle  have  always  the  uppermost  place 
in  a  woman's  thoughts. 

I  know  several  of  my  fair  readers  urge,  hi  defence  of  this  practice, 
that  it  is  but  a  necessary  provision  to  make  for  themselves,  in  case 
their  husband  proves  a  churl  or  a  miser;  so  that  they  consider  this 

252 


THE    SPECTATOR 

allowance  as  a  kind  of  alimony,  which  they  may  lay  their  claim  to 
without  actually  separating  from  their  husbands.  But  with  sub- 
mission, I  think  a  woman  who  will  give  up  herself  to  a  man  in  mar- 
riage, where  there  is  the  least  room  for  such  an  apprehension,  and 
trust  her  person  to  one  whom  she  will  not  rely  on  for  the  common 
necessaries  of  life,  may  very  properly  be  accused  (in  the  phrase  of 
an  homely  proverb)  of  being  "penny  wise  and  pound  foolish." 

It  is  observed  of  over-cautious  generals,  that  they  never  engage 
in  a  battle  without  securing  a  retreat,  in  case  the  event  should  not 
answer  their  expectations ;  on  the  other  hand,  the  greatest  conquerors 
have  burnt  their  ships,  and  broke  down  the  bridges  behind  them, 
as  being  determined  either  to  succeed  or  die  in  the  engagement. 
In  the  same  manner  I  should  very  much  suspect  a  woman  who 
takes  such  precautions  for  her  retreat,  and  contrives  methods  how 
she  may  live  happily,  without  the  affection  of  one  to  whom  she 
joins  herself  for  life.  Separate  purses  between  man  and  wife,  are, 
in  my  opinion,  as  unnatural  as  separate  beds.  A  marriage  cannot 
be  happy,  where  the  pleasures,  inclinations,  and  interests  of  both 
parties  are  not  the  same.  There  is  no  greater  incitement  to  love 
in  the  mind  of  man,  than  the  sense  of  a  person's  depending  upon 
him  for  her  ease  and  happiness ;  as  a  woman  uses  all  her  endeavours 
to  please  the  person  whom  she  looks  upon  as  her  honour,  her 
comfort,  and  her  support. 

For  this  reason  I  am  not  very  much  surprised  at  the  behaviour  of 
a  rough  country  squire,  who,  being  not  a  little  shocked  at  the 
proceeding  of  a  young  widow  that  would  not  recede  from  her 
demands  of  pin-money,  was  so  enraged  at  her  mercenary  temper, 
that  he  told  her  in  great  wrath,  "  As  much  as  she  thought  him  her 
slave,  he  would  show  all  the  world  he  did  not  care  a  pin  for  her." 
Upon  which  he  flew  out  of  the  room,  and  never  saw  her  more. 

Socrates,  in  Plato's  Alcibiades,  says,  he  was  informed  by  one, 
who  had  travelled  through  Persia,  that  as  he  passed  over  a  tract  of 
lands  and  inquired  what  the  name  of  the  place  was,  they  told  him 
it  was  the  queen's  girdle;  to  which  he  adds,  that  another  wide 
field  which  lay  by  it  was  called  the  queen's  veil,  and  that  in  the 
same  manner  there  was  a  large  portion  of  ground  set  aside  for 
every  part  of  her  Majesty's  dress.  These  lands  might  not  be 
improperly  called  the  Queen  of  Persia's  pin-money. 

I  remember  my  friend  Sir  Roger,  who  I  dare  say  never  read  this 
passage  in  Plato,  told  me  some  time  since,  that  upon  his  courting 

253 


THE    SPECTATOR 

the  perverse  widow,  (of  whom  I  have  given  an  account  in  former 
papers),  he  had  disposed  of  an  hundred  acres  in  a  diamond-ring, 
which  he  would  have  presented  her  with,  had  she  thought  fit  to 
accept  it ;  and  that  upon  her  wedding-day  she  should  have  carried 
on  her  head  fifty  of  the  tallest  oaks  upon  his  estate.  He  further 
informed  me  that  he  would  have  given  her  a  coal-pit  to  keep  her  in 
clean  linen,  that  he  would  have  allowed  her  the  profits  of  a  wind- 
mill for  her  fans,  and  have  presented  her,  once  in  three  years,  with 
the  shearing  of  his  sheep  for  her  under-petticoats.  To  which  the 
knight  always  adds,  that  though  he  did  not  care  for  fine  clothes 
himself,  there  should  not  have  been  a  woman  in  the  country  better 
dressed  than  my  lady  Coverley.  Sir  Roger,  perhaps,  may  in  this, 
as  well  as  hi  many  other  of  his  devices,  appear  something  odd  and 
singular,  but  if  the  humour  of  pin-money  prevails,  I  think  it  would 
be  very  proper  for  every  gentleman  of  an  estate  to  mark  out  so  many 
acres  of  it  under  the  title  of  The  Pins. 


LETTER   FROM   SIR  JOHN   ENVIL 

No.  299.]    TUESDAY,  FEBRUARY  12,  1711-12.    [ADDISON.] 

Malo  Venusinam,  quam  te,  Cornelia,  mater 
Gracchorum,  si  cum  magnis  virtutibus  affers 
Grande  supercilium,  et  numeras  in  dote  triumphos. 
Tolle  tuum  precor  Annibalem  victumque  Syphacem 
In  castris,  et  cum  tota  Carthagine  migra. — Juv. 

IT  is  observed,  that  a  man  improves  more  by  reading  the  story 
of  a  person  eminent  for  prudence  and  virtue,  than  by  the 
finest  rules  and  precepts  of  morality.  In  the  same  manner  a 
representation  of  those  calamities  and  misfortunes  which  a  weak 
man  suffers  from  wrong  measures  and  ill-concerted  schemes  of 
life,  is  apt  to  make  a  deeper  impression  upon  our  minds,  than  the 
wisest  maxims  and  instructions  that  can  be  given  us  for  avoiding 
the  like  follies  and  indiscretions  in  our  own  private  conduct.  It  is 
for  this  reason  that  I  lay  before  my  reader  the  following  letter,  and 
leave  it  with  him  to  make  his  own  use  of  it,  without  adding  any 
reflections  of  my  own  upon  the  subject-matter 

254 


THE   SPECTATOR 

"MR.  SPECTATOR, —  Having  carefully  perused  a  letter  sent 
you  by  Josiah  Fribble,  Esq.,  with  your  subsequent  discourse 
upon  pin  money,  I  do  presume  to  trouble  you  with  an  account 
of  my  own  case,  which  I  look  upon  to  be  no  less  deplorable 
than  that  of  Squire  Fribble.  I  am  a  person  of  no  extraction, 
having  begun  the  world  with  a  small  parcel  of  rusty  iron, 
and  was  for  some  years  commonly  known  by  the  name  of 
Jack  Anvil.  I  have  naturally  a  very  happy  genius  for  getting 
money,  insomuch  that  by  the  age  of  five  and  twenty,  I  had 
scraped  together  four  thousand  two  hundred  pounds,  five  shillings, 
and  a  few  odd  pence.  I  then  launched  out  into  considerable  busi- 
ness, and  became  a  bold  trader  both  by  sea  and  land,  which  in  a 
few  years  raised  me  a  very  considerable  fortune.  For  these  my 
good  services  I  was  knighted  in  the  thirty-fifth  year  of  my  age,  and 
lived  with  great  dignity  among  my  city  neighbours  by  the  name  of 
Sir  John  Anvil.  Being  in  my  temper  very  ambitious,  I  was  now  bent 
upon  making  a  family,  and  accordingly  resolved  that  my  descendants 
should  have  a  dash  of  good  blood  in  their  veins.  In  order  to  this  I 
made  love  to  the  Lady  Mary  Oddly,  an  indigent  young  woman  of 
quality.  To  cut  short  the  marriage  treaty,  I  threw  her  a  charte 
blanche,  as  our  newspapers  call  it,  desiring  her  to  write  upon  it  her 
own  terms.  She  was  very  concise  in  her  demands,  insisting  only 
that  the  disposal  of  my  fortune,  and  the  regulation  of  my  family, 
should  be  entirely  in  her  hands.  Her  father  and  brothers  appeared 
exceedingly  averse  to  this  match,  and  would  not  see  me  for  some 
time ;  but  at  present  are  so  well  reconciled,  that  they  dine  with  me 
almost  every  day,  and  have  borrowed  considerable  sums  of  me; 
which  my  Lady  Mary  very  often  twits  me  with,  when  she  would 
show  me  how  kind  her  relations  are  to  me.  She  had  no  portion,  as 
I  told  you  before,  but  what  she  wanted  in  fortune  she  makes  up  in 
spirit.  She  at  first  changed  my  name  to  Sir  John  Envil,  and  at 
present  writes  herself  Mary  Enville.  I  have  had  some  children  by 
her,  whom  she  has  christened  with  the  surnames  of  her  family, 
in  order,  as  she  tells  me,  to  wear  out  the  homeliness  of  their  par- 
entage by  the  father's  side.  Our  eldest  son  is  the  Honourable 
Oddly  Enville,  Esq.,  and  our  eldest  daughter,  Harriot  Enville. 
Upon  her  first  coming  into  my  family,  she  turned  off  a  parcel  of 
very  careful  servants,  who  had  been  long  with  me,  and  introduced 
in  their  stead  a  couple  of  Blackamoors,  and  three  or  four  very  genteel 
fellows  in  laced  liveries,  besides  her  French  woman,  who  is  perpetu- 

255 


THE    SPECTATOR 

ally  making  a  noise  in  the  house  in  a  language  which  nobody  under- 
stands, except  my  Lady  Mary.  She  next  set  herself  to  reform  every 
room  of  my  house,  having  glazed  all  my  chimney-pieces  with  looking- 
glass,  and  planted  every  corner  with  such  heaps  of  china,  that  I  am 
obliged  to  move  about  my  own  house  with  the  greatest  caution  and 
circumspection,  for  fear  of  hurting  some  of  our  brittle  furniture. 
She  makes  an  illumination  once  a  week  with  wax-candles  in  one  of 
the  largest  rooms,  in  order,  as  she  phrases  it,  to  see  company.  At 
which  time  she  always  desires  me  to  be  abroad,  or  to  confine  myself 
to  the  cock-loft,  that  I  may  not  disgrace  her  among  her  visitants  of 
quality.  Her  footmen,  as  I  told  you  before,  are  such  beaus,  that 
I  do  not  much  care  for  asking  them  questions;  when  I  do,  they 
answer  me  with  a  saucy  frown,  and  say  that  everything,  which  I 
find  fault  with,  was  done  by  my  Lady  Mary's  order.  She  tells  me 
that  she  intends  they  shall  wear  swords  with  their  next  liveries, 
having  lately  observed  the  footmen  of  two  or  three  persons  of 
quality  hanging  behind  the  coach  with  swords  by  their  sides.  As 
soon  as  the  first  honey-moon  was  over,  I  represented  to  her  the 
unreasonableness  of  those  daily  innovations  which  she  made  in  my 
family;  but  she  told  me  I  was  no  longer  to  consider  myself  as  Sir 
John  Anvil,  but  as  her  husband;  and  added  with  a  frown,  that  I 
did  not  seem  to  know  who  she  was.  I  was  surprised  to  be  treated 
thus,  after  such  familiarities  as  had  passed  between  us.  But  she 
has  since  given  me  to  know,  that  whatever  freedoms  she  may 
sometimes  indulge  me  in,  she  expects  in  general  to  be  treated  with 
the  respect  that  is  due  to  her  birth  and  quality.  Our  children  have 
been  trained  up  from  their  infancy  with  so  many  accounts  of  their 
mother's  family,  that  they  know  the  stories  of  all  the  great  men  and 
women  it  had  produced.  Their  mother  tells  them,  that  such  an 
one  commanded  hi  such  a  sea  engagement,  that  their  great-grand- 
father had  a  horse  shot  under  him  at  Edgehill,  that  their  uncle  was 
at  the  siege  of  Buda,  and  that  her  mother  danced  in  a  ball  at  court 
with  the  Duke  of  Monmouth ;  with  abundance  of  fiddle-faddle  of  the 
same  nature.  I  was,  the  other  day,  a  little  out  of  countenance  at  a 
question  of  my  little  daughter  Harriot,  who  asked  me,  with  a  great 
deal  of  innocence,  why  I  never  told  them  of  the  generals  and 
admirals  that  had  been  in  my  family.  As  for  my  eldest  son  Oddly, 
he  has  been  so  spirited  up  by  his  mother,  that  if  he  does  not  mend 
his  manners  I  shall  go  near  to  disinherit  him.  He  drew  his  sword 
upon  me  before  he  was  nine  years  old,  and  told  me,  that  he  expected 

256 


THE   SPECTATOR 

to  be  used  like  a  gentleman;  upon  my  offering  to  correct  him  for 
his  insolence,  my  Lady  Mary  stept  in  between  us,  and  told  me, 
that  I  ought  to  consider  there  was  some  difference  between  his 
mother  and  mine.  She  is  perpetually  finding  out  the  features  of  her 
own  relations  in  every  one  of  my  children,  though,  by  the  way,  I 
have  a  little  chub-faced  boy  as  like  me  as  he  can  stare,  if  I  durst 
say  so;  but  what  most  angers,  me,  when  she  sees  me  playing  with 
any  of  them  upon  my  knee,  she  has  begged  me  more  than  once  to 
converse  with  the  children  as  little  as  possible,  that  they  may  not 
learn  any  of  my  awkward  tricks. 

"You  must  further  know,  since  I  am  opening  my  heart  to  you, 
that  she  thinks  herself  my  superior  in  sense,  as  much  as  she  is  in 
quality,  and  therefore  treats  me  like  a  plain  well-meaning  man, 
who  does  not  know  the  world.  She  dictates  to  me  in  my  own 
business,  sets  me  right  in  a  point  of  trade,  and  if  I  disagree  with  her 
about  any  of  my  ships  at  sea,  wonders  that  I  will  dispute  with  her, 
when  I  know  very  well  that  her  great-grandfather  was  a  flag  officer. 

"To  complete  my  sufferings,  she  has  teased  me  for  this  quarter  of 
a  year  last  past,  to  remove  into  one  of  the  Squares  at  the  other  end 
of  the  town,  promising,  for  my  encouragement,  that  I  shall  have  as 
good  a  cock-loft  as  any  gentleman  in  the  Square:  to  which  the 
Honourable  Oddly  Enville,  Esq.  always  adds,  like  a  jack-a-napes 
as  he  is,  that  he  hopes  it  will  be  as  near  the  court  as  possible. 

"In  short,  MR.  SPECTATOR,  I  am  so  much  out  of  my  natural 
element,  that  to  recover  my  old  way  of  life  I  would  be  content  to 
begin  the  world  again,  and  be  plain  Jack  Anvil;  but  alas!  I  am  in  for 
life,  and  am  bound  to  subscribe  myself,  with  great  sorrow  of  heart, 

"  Your  humble  servant, 

JOHN  ENVILLE,  Knt.w 


257 


THE   SPECTATOR 

ON   WASTE   OF   TIME 

No.  317.]    TUESDAY,  MARCH  4,  1711-12.    [ADDISON.] 

—  Fruges  consumers  nati. 

HOE.  i  Ep.  ii.  27. 

—  Born  to  drink  and  eat. 

AUGUSTUS,  a  few  moments  before  his  death,  asked  his  friends 
who  stood  about  him,  if  they  thought  he  had  acted  his  part 
well;  and  upon  receiving  such  an  answer  as  was  due  to  his  extra- 
ordinary merit,  "Let  me  then,"  says  he,  "go  off  the  stage  with  your 
applause";  using  the  expression  with  which  the  Roman  actors 
made  their  exit  at  the  conclusion  of  a  dramatic  piece.  I  could 
wish  that  men,  while  they  are  in  health,  would  consider  well  the 
nature  of  the  part  they  are  engaged  in,  and  what  figure  it  will  make 
in  the  minds  of  those  they  leave  behind  them :  whether  it  was  worth 
coming  into  the  world  for:  whether  it  be  suitable  to  a  reasonable 
being;  in  short,  whether  it  appears  graceful  in  this  life,  or  will 
turn  to  an  advantage  in  the  next.  Let  the  sycophant  or  buffoon, 
the  satirist  or  the  good  companion,  consider  with  himself,  when 
his  body  shall  be  laid  in  the  grave  and  his  soul  pass  into  another 
state  of  existence,  how  much  it  would  redound  to  his  praise  to  have 
it  said  of  him,  that  no  man  in  England  ate  better,  that  he  had  an 
admirable  talent  at  turning  his  friend  into  ridicule,  that  nobody 
outdid  him  at  an  ill-natured  jest,  or  that  he  never  went  to  bed  before 
he  had  dispatched  his  third  bottle.  These  are,  however,  very 
common  funeral  orations,  and  eulogiums  on  deceased  persons  who 
have  acted  among  mankind  with  some  figure  and  reputation. 

But  if  we  look  into  the  bulk  of  our  species,  they  are  such  as  are 
not  likely  to  be  remembered  a  moment  after  their  disappearance. 
They  leave  behind  them  no  traces  of  their  existence,  but  are  for- 
gotten as  though  they  had  never  been.  They  are  neither  wanted 
by  the  poor,  regretted  by  the  rich,  nor  celebrated  by  the  learned. 
They  are  neither  missed  in  the  commonwealth,  nor  lamented  by 
private  persons.  Their  actions  are  of  no  significancy  to  mankind, 
and  might  have  been  performed  by  creatures  of  much  less  dignity 
than  those  who  are  distinguished  by  the  faculty  of  reason.  An 

258    " 


THE    SPECTATOR 

eminent  French  author  speaks  somewhere  to  the  following  pur- 
pose: I  have  often  seen  from  my  chamber  window  two  noble  crea- 
tures, both  of  them  of  an  erect  countenance  and  endowed  with 
reason.  These  two  intellectual  beings  are  employed  from  morn- 
ing to  night,  in  rubbing  two  smooth  stones  one  upon  another; 
that  is,  as  the  vulgar  phrase  it,  in  polishing  marble. 

My  friend,  Sir  Andrew  Freeport,  as  we  were  sitting  in  the  club 
last  night,  gave  us  an  account  of  a  sober  citizen  who  died  a  few 
days  since.  This  honest  man,  being  of  greater  consequence  in 
his  own  thoughts  than  in  the  eye  of  the  world,  had  for  some  years 
past  kept  a  journal  of  his  life.  Sir  Andrew  showed  us  one  week 
of  it.  Since  the  occurrences  set  down  in  it  mark  out  such  a  road 
of  action  as  that  I  have  been  speaking  of,  I  shall  present  my  reader 
with  a  faithful  copy  of  it;  after  having  first  informed  him,  that  the 
deceased  person  had  in  his  youth  been  bred  to  trade,  but  finding 
himself  not  so  well  turned  for  business,  he  had  for  several  years 
last  past  lived  altogether  upon  a  moderate  annuity. 

MONDAY,  eight  o'clock.  I  put  on  my  clothes,  and  walked  into 
the  parlour. 

Nine  o'clock  ditto.  Tied  my  knee-strings,  and  washed  my 
hands. 

Hours,  ten,  eleven,  and  twelve.  Smoked  three  pipes  of  Vir- 
ginia. Read  the  Supplement  and  Daily  Courant.  Things  go 
ill  in  the  north.  Mr.  Nisby's  opinion  thereupon. 

One  o'clock  hi  the  afternoon.  Chid  Ralph  for  mislaying  mv 
tobacco-box. 

Two  o'clock.  Sat  down  to  dinner.  Mem.  Too  many  plums 
and  no  suet. 

From  three  to  four  took  my  afternoon's  nap. 

From  four  to  six.     Walked  into  the  fields.     Wind  S.S.E. 

From  six  to  ten.  At  the  club.  Mr.  Nisby's  opinion  about 
the  peace. 

Ten  o'clock.     Went  to  bed,  slept  sound. 

TUESDAY,  being  holiday,  eight  o'clock.     Rose  as  usual. 
Nine  o'clock.     Washed  hands  and  face,   shaved,  put  on  my 
double-soaled  shoes. 

Ten,  eleven,  twelve.     Took  a  walk  to  Islington. 
One.    Took  a  pot  of  Mother  Cob's  mild. 

259 


THE    SPECTATOR 

Between  two  and  three.  Returned,  dined  on  a  knuckle  of  veal 
and  bacon.  Mem.  Sprouts  wanting. 

Three.     Nap  as  usual. 

From  four  to  six.  Coffee-house.  Read  the  news.  A  dish  of 
twist.  Grand  visier  strangled. 

From  six  to  ten.  At  the  club.  Mr.  Nisby's  account  of  the 
Great  Turk. 

Ten.     Dream  of  the  grand  visier.     Broken  sleep. 

WEDNESDAY,  eight  o'clock.  Tongue  of  my  shoe-buckle  broke. 
Hands  but  not  face. 

Nine.  Paid  off  the  butcher's  bill.  Mem.  To  be  allowed  for 
the  last  leg  of  mutton. 

Ten,  eleven.  At  the  coffee-house.  More  work  in  the  north. 
Stranger  in  a  black  wig  asked  me  how  stocks  went. 

From  twelve  to  one.     Walked  in  the  fields.     Wind  to  the  south. 

From  one  to  two.     Smoked  a  pipe  and  a  half. 

Two.     Dined  as  usual.     Stomach  good. 

Three.  Nap  broke  by  the  falling  of  a  pewter  dish.  Mem. 
Cook-maid  in  love,  and  grown  careless. 

From  four  to  six.  At  the  coffee-house.  Advice  from  Smyrna 
that  the  grand  visier  was  first  of  all  strangled,  and  afterwards 
beheaded. 

Six  o'clock  in  the  evening.  Was  half  an  hour  in  the  club  before 
anybody  else  came.  Mr.  Nisby  of  opinion  that  the  grand  visier 
was  not  strangled  the  sixth  instant. 

Ten  at  night.  Went  to  bed.  Slept  without  waking  till  nine  the 
next  morning. 

THURSDAY,  nine  o'clock.  Staid  within  till  two  o'clock  for  Sir  Tim- 
othy; who  did  not  bring  me  my  annuity  according  to  his  promise. 

Two  in  the  afternoon.  Sat  down  to  dinner.  Loss  of  appetite. 
Small-beer  sour.  Beef  overcorned. 

Three.     Could  not  take  my  nap. 

Four  and  five.  Gave  Ralph  a  box  on  the  ear.  Turned  off  my 
cook-maid.  Sent  a  messenger  to  Sir  Timothy.  Mem.  I  did  not 
go  to  the  club  to-night.  Went  to  bed  at  nine  o'clock. 

FRIDAY.  Passed  the  morning  in  meditation  upon  Sir  Timothy, 
who  was  with  me  a  quarter  before  twelve. 

•    260 


THE   SPECTATOR 

Twelve  o'clock.  Bought  a  new  head  to  my  cane,  and  a  tongue 
to  my  buckle.  Drank  a  glass  of  purl  to  recover  appetite. 

Two  and  three.     Dined  and  slept  well. 

From  four  to  six.  Went  to  the  coffee-house.  Met  Mr.  Nisby 
there.  Smoked  several  pipes.  Mr.  Nisby  of  opinion  that  laced 
coffee  is  bad  for  the  head. 

Six  o'clock.    At  the  club  as  steward.    Sat  late. 

Twelve  o'clock.  Went  to  bed,  dreamt  that  I  drank  small-beer 
with  the  grand  visier. 

SATURDAY.    Waked  at  eleven,  walked  in  the  fields,  wind  N.E. 

Twelve.     Caught  in  a  shower. 

One  in  the  afternoon.    Returned  home  and  dried  myself. 

Two.  Mr.  Nisby  dined  with  me.  First  course,  marrow-bones; 
second,  ox-cheek,  with  a  bottle  of  Brooks  and  Hellier. 

Three.     Overslept  myself. 

Six.  Went  to  the  club.  Like  to  have  fallen  into  a  gutter. 
Grand  visier  certainly  dead,  &c. 

I  question  not  but  the  reader  will  be  surprised  to  find  the  above- 
mentioned  journalist  taking  so  much  care  of  a  life  that  was  filled 
with  such  inconsiderable  actions,  and  received  so  very  small  improve- 
ments, and  yet  if  we  look  into  the  behaviour  of  many  whom  we 
daily  converse  with,  we  shall  find  that  most  of  their  hours  are  taken 
up  in  those  three  important  articles  of  eating,  drinking,  and  sleeping. 
I  do  not  suppose  that  a  man  loses  his  time,  who  is  not  engaged  hi 
public  affairs  or  in  an  illustrious  course  of  action.  On  the  contrary, 
I  believe  our  hours  may  very  often  be  more  profitably  laid  out  in 
such  transactions  as  make  no  figure  in  the  world,  than  hi  such  as 
are  apt  to  draw  upon  them  the  attention  of  mankind.  One  may  be- 
come wiser  and  better  by  several  methods  of  employing  one's  self  in 
secrecy  and  silence,  and  do  what  is  laudable  without  noise  or  ostenta- 
tion. I  would,  however,  recommend  to  every  one  of  my  readers, 
the  keeping  a  journal  of  their  lives  for  one  week,  and  setting  down 
punctually  their  whole  series  of  employments  during  that  space  of 
time.  This  kind  of  self-examination,  would  give  them  a  true  state 
of  themselves,  and  incline  them  to  consider  seriously  what  they  are 
about.  One  would  rectify  the  omissions  of  another,  and  make  a 
man  weigh  all  those  indifferent  actions,  which,  though  they  are 
easily  forgotten,  must  certainly  be  accounted  for.  L. 

261 


THE   SPECTATOR 


A  YOUNG  LADY'S  JOURNAL  OF  A  WEEK 

No.  323.]    TUESDAY,  MARCH  n,  1711-12.    [ADDISON.J 
—  Modo  vir,  modo  fccmina. — VIRG. 

THE  journal  with  which  I  presented  my  reader  on  Tuesday 
last,  has  brought  me  in  several  letters,  with  accounts  of 
many  private  lives  cast  into  that  form.  I  have  the  Rake's  Jour- 
nal, the  Sot's  Journal,  the  Whoremaster's  Journal,  and  among 
several  others  a  very  curious  piece,  entitled,  "The  Journal  of  a 
Mohock."  By  these  instances  I  find  that  the  intention  of  my 
last  Tuesday's  paper  has  been  mistaken  by  many  of  my  readers. 
I  did  not  design  so  much  to  expose  vice  as  idleness,  and  aimed  at 
those  persons  who  pass  away  their  time  rather  in  trifles  and  imper- 
tinence, than  in  crimes  and  immoralities.  Offences  of  this  latter 
kind  are  not  to  be  dallied  with,  or  treated  in  so  ludicrous  a  manner. 
In  short,  my  journal  only  holds  up  folly  to  the  light,  and  shows  the 
disagreeableness  of  such  actions  as  are  indifferent  in  themselves, 
and  blameable  only  as  they  proceed  from  creatures  endowed  with 
reason. 

My  following  correspondent,  who  calls  herself  Clarinda,  is  such 
a  journalist  as  I  require :  she  seems  by  her  letter  to  be  placed  in  a 
modish  state  of  indifference  between  vice  and  virtue,  and  to  be  sus- 
ceptible of  either,  were  there  proper  pains  taken  with  her.  Had 
her  journal  been  filled  with  gallantries,  or  such  occurrences  as  had 
shown  her  wholly  divested  of  her  natural  innocence,  notwithstand- 
ing it  might  have  been  more  pleasing  to  the  generality  of  readers, 
I  should  not  have  published  it ;  but  as  it  is  only  the  picture  of  a  life 
filled  with  a  fashionable  kind  of  gaiety  and  laziness,  I  shall  set 
down  five  days  of  it,  as  I  have  received  it  from  the  hand  of  my 
correspondent. 

"DEAR  MR.  SPECTATOR,  —  You  having  set  your  readers  an 
exercise  hi  one  of  your  last  week's  papers,  I  have  performed  mine 
according  to  your  orders,  and  herewith  send  it  you  enclosed.  You 
must  know,  Mr.  Spectator,  that  I  am  a  maiden  lady  of  a  good 
fortune,  who  have  had  several  matches  offered  me  for  these  ten 
years  last  past,  and  have  at  present  warm  applications  made  to 
me  by  a  very  pretty  fellow.  As  I  am  at  my  own  disposal,  I  come 
up  to  town  every  winter,  and  pass  my  time  in  it  after  the  manner 

262 


THE    SPECTATOR 

you  will  find  in  the  following  journal,  which  I  began  to  write  upon 
the  very  day  after  your  Spectator  upon  that  subject. 

TUESDAY  night.  Could  not  go  to  sleep  till  one  hi  the  morning 
for  thinking  of  my  journal. 

WEDNESDAY.  From  eight  to  ten.  Drank  two  dishes  of  choco- 
late hi  bed,  and  fell  asleep  after  them. 

From  ten  to  eleven.  Eat  a  slice  of  bread  and  butter,  drank  a  dish 
of  bohea,  read  the  Spectator. 

From  eleven  to  one.  At  my  toilette,  tried  a  new  head.  Gave 
orders  for  Veny  to  be  combed  and  washed.  Mem.  I  look  best  hi 
blue. 

From  one  till  half  an  hour  after  two.  Drove  to  the  'Change. 
Cheapened  a  couple  of  fans. 

Till  four.  At  dinner.  Mem.  Mr.  Froth  passed  by  hi  his  new 
liveries. 

From  four  to  six.  Dressed,  paid  a  visit  to  old  Lady  Blithe  and 
her  sister,  having  before  heard  they  were  gone  out  of  town  that 
day. 

From  six  to  eleven.  At  Basset.  Mem.  Never  set  again  upon 
the  ace  of  diamonds. 

THURSDAY.  From  eleven  at  night  to  eight  in  the  morning. 
Dreamed  that  I  punted  to  Mr.  Froth. 

From  eight  to  ten.  Chocolate.  Read  two  acts  hi  Aurenzebe 
a-bed. 

From  ten  to  eleven.  Tea-table.  Sent  to  borrow  Lady  Faddle's 
Cupid  for  Veny.  Read  the  play-bills.  Received  a  letter  from 
Mr.  Froth.  Mem.  Locked  it  up  in  my  strong  box. 

Rest  of  the  morning.  Fontange,  the  tire-woman,  her  account  of 
Lady  Blithe's  wash.  Broke  a  tooth  hi  my  little  tortoise-shell 
comb.  Sent  Frank  to  know  how  my  Lady  Hectick  rested  after 
her  monkey's  leaping  out  at  the  window.  Looked  pale.  Fontagne 
tells  me  my  glass  is  not  true.  Dressed  by  three. 

From  three  to  four.     Dinner  cold  before  I  sat  down. 

From  four  to  eleven.  Saw  company.  Mr.  Froth's  opinion  of 
Milton.  His  accounts  of  the  Mohocks.  His  fancy  for  a  phi-cushion. 
Picture  hi  the  lid  of  his  snuff-box.  Old  Lady  Faddle  promises  me 
her  woman  to  cut  my  hair.  Lost  five  guineas  at  crimp. 

Twelve  o'clock  at  night.     Went  to  bed. 

263 


THE    SPECTATOR 

.  FRIDAY.  Eight  in  the  morning.  A-bed.  Read  over  all  Mr. 
Froth's  letters.  Cupid  and  Veny. 

Ten  o'clock.     Stayed  within  all  day,  not  at  home. 

From  ten  to  twelve.  In  conference  with  my  mantua-maker. 
Sorted  a  suit  of  ribands.  Broke  my  blue  china  cup. 

From  twelve  to  one.  Shut  myself  up  in  my  chamber,  practised 
Lady  Betty  Modely's  skuttle. 

One  in  the  afternoon.  Called  for  my  flowered  handkerchief. 
Worked  half  a  violet  leaf  in  it.  Eyes  ached  and  head  out  of  order. 
Threw  by  my  work,  and  read  over  the  remaining  part  of  Aurenzebe. 

From  three  to  four.     Dined. 

From  four  to  twelve.  Changed  my  mind,  dressed,  went  abroad, 
and  played  at  crimp  till  midnight.  Found  Mrs.  Spitely  at^  home. 
Conversation:  Mrs.  Brillant's  necklace  false  stones.  Old  Lady 
Loveday  going  to  be  married  to  a  young  fellow  that  is  not  worth  a 
groat.  Miss  Prue  gone  into  the  country.  Tom  Townley  has  red 
hair.  Mem.  Mrs.  Spitely  whispered  in  my  ear  that  she  had  some- 
thing to  tell  me  about  Mr.  Froth,  I  am  sure  it  is  not  true. 

Between  twelve  and  one.  Dreamed  that  Mr.  Froth  lay  at  my 
feet,  and  called  me  Indamora. 

SATURDAY.  Rose  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Sat  down  to 
my  toilette. 

From  eight  to  nine.  Shifted  a  patch  for  half  an  hour  before  I 
could  determine  it.  Fixed  it  above  my  left  eyebrow. 

From  nine  to  twelve.     Drank  my  tea,  and  dressed. 

From  twelve  to  two.  At  chapel.  A  great  deal  of  good  company. 
Mem.  The  third  air  in  the  new  opera.  Lady  Blithe  dressed  fright- 
fully. 

From  three  to  four.  Dined.  Mrs.  Kitty  called  upon  me  to  go  to 
the  opera  before  I  was  risen  from  table. 

From  dinner  to  six.  Drank  tea.  Turned  off  a  footman  for  being 
rude  to  Veny. 

Six  o'clock.  Went  to  the  opera.  I  did  not  see  Mr.  Froth  till  the 
beginning  of  the  second  act.  Mr.  Froth  talked  to  a  gentleman  in  a 
black  wig.  Bowed  to  a  lady  hi  the  front  box.  Mr.  Froth  and  his 
friend  clapped  Nicolini  in  the  third  act.  Mr.  Froth  cried  out  An- 
cora.  Mr.  Froth  led  me  to  my  chair.  I  think  he  squeezed  my  hand. 

Eleven  at  night.  Went  to  bed.  Melancholy  dreams.  Me- 
thought  Nicolini  said  he  was  Mr.  Froth. 

264 


THE    SPECTATOR 

SUNDAY.     Indisposed. 

MONDAY.  Eight  o'clock.  Waked  by  Miss  Kitty.  Aurenzebe 
lay  upon  the  chair  by  me.  Kitty  repeated  without  book  the  eight 
best  lines  in  the  play.  Went  in  our  mobs  to  the  dumb  man,  accord- 
ing to  appointment.  Told  me  that  my  lover's  name  began  with  a 
G.  Mem.  The  conjurer  was  within  a  letter  of  Mr.  Froth's  name, 
&c. 

"  Upon  looking  back  into  this  my  journal,  I  find  that  I  am  at  a 
loss  to  know  whether  I  pass  my  time  well  or  ill;  and  indeed  never 
thought  of  considering  how  I  did  it,  before  I  perused  your  specula- 
tion upon  that  subject.  I  scarce  find  a  single  action  hi  these  five 
days  that  I  can  thoroughly  approve  of,  except  the  working  upon  the 
violet  leaf,  which  I  am  resolved  to  finish  the  first  day  I  am  at  leisure. 
As  for  Mr.  Froth  and  Veny,  I  did  not  think  they  took  up  so  much 
of  my  time  and  thoughts,  as  I  find  they  do  upon  my  journal.  The 
latter  of  whom  I  will  turn  off  if  you  insist  upon  it ;  and  if  Mr.  Froth 
does  not  bring  matters  to  a  conclusion  very  suddenly,  I  will  not  let 
my  life  run  away  in  a  dream. 

"Your  humble  servant, 

CLARINDA." 

To  resume  one  of  the  morals  of  my  first  paper,  and  to  confirm 
Clarinda  in  her  good  inclinations,  I  would  have  her  consider  what 
a  pretty  figure  she  would  make  among  posterity,  were  the  history  of 
her  whole  life  published  like  these  five  days  of  it.  I  shall  conclude 
my  paper  with  an  epitaph  written  by  an  uncertain  author  on  Sir 
Philip  Sidney's  sister,  a  lady  who  seems  to  have  been  of  a  temper 
very  much  different  from  that  of  Clarinda.  The  last  thought  of  it 
is  so  very  noble,  that  I  dare  say  my  reader  will  pardon  the  quotation. 

On  the  Countess  Dowager  of  PEMBROKE. 

Underneath  this  marble  hearse 
Lies  the  subject  of  all  verse, 
Sidney's  sister,  Pembroke's  mother; 
Death,  ere  thou  hast  killed  another, 
Fair,  and  learned,  and  good  as  she, 
Time  shall  throw  a  dart  at  thee. 


265 


THE   SPECTATOR 

VARIOUS   ADVANTAGES   OF   THE 
SPECTATORS 

No.  367.3    THURSDAY  MAY  i,  1712.    [ADDISON,] 

—  Periturae  parcite  chartae.  — Juv. 

I  HAVE  often  pleased  myself  with  considering  the  two  kinds  of 
benefits  which  accrue  to  the  public  from  these  my  Speculations, 
and  which,  were  I  to  speak  after  the  manner  of  logicians,  I  would 
distinguish  into  the  material  and  the  formal.  By  the  latter  I  under- 
stand those  advantages  which  my  readers  receive,  as  their  minds 
are  either  improved  or  delighted  by  these  my  daily  labours:  but 
having  already  several  times  descanted  on  my  endeavours  in  this 
light,  I  shall  at  present  wholly  confine  myself  to  the  consideration  of 
the  former.  By  the  word  material  I  mean  those  benefits  which 
arise  to  the  public  from  these  my  Speculations,  as  they  consume  a 
considerable  quantity  of  our  paper  manufacture,  employ  our  arti- 
sans in  printing,  and  find  business  for  great  numbers  of  indigent 
persons. 

Our  paper-manufacture  takes  into  it  several  mean  materials 
which  could  be  put  to  no  other  use,  and  affords  work  for  several 
hands  in  the  collecting  of  them,  which  are  incapable  of  any  other 
employment.  Those  poor  retailers,  whom  we  see  so  busy  in  every 
street,  deliver  in  their  respective  gleanings  to  the  merchant.  The 
merchant  carries  them  in  loads  to  the  paper-mill,  where  they  pass 
through  a  fresh  set  of  hands,  and  give  life  to  another  trade.  Those 
who  have  mills  on  their  estates  by  this  means  considerably  raise 
their  rents,  and  the  whole  nation  is  in  a  great  measure  supplied 
with  a  manufacture,  for  which  formerly  she  was  obliged  to  her 
neighbours. 

The  materials  are  no  sooner  wrought  into  paper,  but  they  are 
distributed  among  the  presses,  where  they  again  set  innumerable 
artists  at  work,  and  furnish  business  to  another  mystery.  From 
hence,  accordingly  as  they  are  stained  with  news  or  politics,  they 
fly  through  the  town  in  Post-men,  Post-boys,  Daily  Courants, 
Reviews,  Medleys,  and  Examiners.  Men,  women,  and  children 
contend  who  shall  be  the  first  bearers  of  them,  and  get  their  daily 
sustenance  by  spreading  them.  In  short,  when  I  trace  in  my 
mind  a  bundle  of  rags  to  a  quire  of  Spectators,  I  find  so  many 

266 


THE    SPECTATOR 

hands  employed  in  every  step  they  take  through  their  whole  progress, 
that  while  I  am  writing  a  Spectator,  I  fancy  myself  providing  bread 
for  a  multitude. 

If  I  do  not  take  care  to  obviate  some  of  my  witty  readers,  they 
will  be  apt  to  tell  me,  that  my  paper,  after  it  is  thus  printed  and 
published,  is  still  beneficial  to  the  public  on  several  occasions.  I 
must  confess  I  have  lighted  my  pipe  with  my  own  works  for  this 
twelvemonth  past:  my  landlady  often  sends  up  her  little  daughter 
to  desire  some  of  my  old  Spectators,  and  has  frequently  told  me, 
that  the  paper  they  are  printed  on  is  the  best  in  the  world  to  wrap 
spice  in.  They  likewise  make  a  good  foundation  for  a  mutton- 
pie,  as  I  have  more  than  once  experienced,  and  were  very  much 
sought  for  last  Christmas  by  the  whole  neighbourhood. 

It  is  pleasant  enough  to  consider  the  changes  that  a  linen  fragment 
undergoes,  by  passing  through  the  several  hands  above-mentioned. 
The  finest  pieces  of  Holland,  when  torn  to  tatters,  assume  a  new 
whiteness  more  beautiful  than  their  first,  and  often  return  in  the 
shape  of  letters  to  their  native  country.  A  lady's  shift  may  be 
metamorphosed  into  billet-doux,  and  come  into  her  possession  a 
second  time.  A  beau  may  peruse  his  cravat  after  it  is  worn  out, 
with  greater  pleasure  and  advantage  than  ever  he  did  in  a  glass. 
In  a  word,  a  piece  of  cloth,  after  having  officiated  for  some  years  as 
a  towel  or  a  napkin,  may  by  this  means  be  raised  from  a  dunghill, 
and  become  the  most  valuable  piece  of  furniture  in  a  prince's  cabinet. 

The  politest  nations  of  Europe  have  endeavoured  to  vie  with 
one  another  for  the  reputation  of  the  finest  printing:  absolute  govern- 
ments, as  well  as  republics,  have  encouraged  an  art  which  seems 
to  be  the  noblest  and  most  beneficial  that  was  ever  invented  among 
the  sons  of  men.  The  present  king  of  France,  in  his  pursuits  after 
glory,  has  particularly  distinguished  himself  by  the  promoting  of 
this  useful  art,  insomuch  that  several  books  have  been  printed  in 
the  Louvre  at  his  own  expense,  upon  which  he  sets  so  great  a  value, 
that  he  considers  them  as  the  noblest  presents  he  can  make  to 
foreign  princes  and  ambassadors.  If  we  look  into  the  common- 
wealths of  Holland  and  Venice,  we  shall  find  that  in  this  particular 
they  have  made  themselves  the  envy  of  the  greatest  monarchies. 
Elzevir  and  Aldus  are  more  frequently  mentioned  than  any  pensioner 
of  the  one  or  doge  of  the  other. 

The  several  presses  which  are  now  in  England,  and  the  encour- 
agement which  has  been  given  to  learning,  for  some  years  last  past, 

267 


THE    SPECTATOR 

has  made  our  own  nation  as  glorious  upon  this  account,  as  for  its 
late  triumphs  and  conquests.  The  new  edition  which  is  given  us 
of  Caesar's  Commentaries,  has  already  been  taken  notice  of  in  foreign 
gazettes,  and  is  a  work  that  does  honour  to  the  English  press.  It  is 
no  wonder  that  an  edition  should  be  very  correct,  which  has  passed 
through  the  hands  of  one  of  the  most  accurate,  learned,  and  judicious 
writers  this  age  has  produced.  The  beauty  of  the  paper,  of  the 
character,  and  of  the  several  cuts  with  which  this  noble  work  is 
illustrated,  makes  it  the  finest  book  that  I  have  ever  seen;  and  is  a 
true  instance  of  the  English  genius,  which,  though  it  does  not  come 
the  first  into  any  art,  generally  carries  it  to  greater  heights  than  any 
other  country  in  the  world.  I  am  particularly  glad  that  this  author 
comes  from  a  British  printing-house  in  so  great  a  magnificence,  as 
he  is  the  first  who  has  given  us  any  tolerable  account  of  our  country. 
My  illiterate  readers,  if  any  such  there  are,  will  be  surprised  to 
hear  me  talk  of  learning  as  the  glory  of  a  nation,  and  of  printing  as 
an  art  that  gains  a  reputation  to  a  people  among  whom  it  flourishes. 
When  men's  thoughts  are  taken  up  with  avarice  and  ambition,  they 
cannot  look  upon  anything  as  great  or  valuable  which  does  not 
bring  with  it  an  extraordinary  power  or  interest  to  the  person  who 
is  concerned  in  it.  But  as  I  shall  never  sink  this  paper  so  far  as 
to  engage  with  Goths  and  Vandals,  I  shall  only  regard  such  kind  of 
reasoners  with  that  pity  which  is  due  to  so  deplorable  a  degree  of 
stupidity  and  ignorance. 


I 


HUMOROUS    WAY    OF    SORTING 
COMPANIES 

No.  371.]    TUESDAY,  MAY  6,  1712.    [ADDISON.] 

Jamne  igitur  laudas  quod  de  sapientibus  unus 
Ridebat  ?  — J0v. 

SHALL  communicate  to  my   reader  the  following  letter  for 
the  entertainment  of  this  day. 


"  SIR,  —  You  know  very  well  that  our  nation  is  more  famous  for 
that  sort  of  men  who  are  called  Whims  and  Humourists,  than  any 

268 


THE    SPECTATOR 

other  country  in  the  world ;  for  which  reason  it  is  observed  that  our 
English  comedy  excels  that  of  all  other  nations  in  the  novelty  and 
variety  of  its  characters. 

"Among  those  innumerable  sets  of  Whims  which  our  country 
produces,  there  are  none  whom  I  have  regarded  with  more  curiosity 
than  those  who  have  invented  any  particular  kind  of  diversion  for 
the  entertainment  of  themselves  or  their  friends.  My  letter  shall 
single  out  those  who  take  delight  in  sorting  a  company  that  has 
something  of  burlesque  and  ridicule  in  its  appearance.  I  shall 
make  myself  understood  by  the  following  example.  One  of  the 
wits  of  the  last  age,  who  was  a  man  of  a  good  estate,  thought  he 
never  laid  out  his  money  better  than  in  a  jest.  As  he  was  one  year 
at  the  Bath,  observing  that  in  the  great  confluence  of  fine  people, 
there  were  several  among  them  with  long  chins,  a  part  of  the  visage 
by  which  he  himself  was  very  much  distinguished,  he  invited  to 
dinner  half  a  score  of  these  remarkable  persons  who  had  their 
mouths  in  the  middle  of  their  faces.  They  had  no  sooner  placed 
themselves  about  the  table,  but  they  began  to  stare  upon  one  another, 
not  being  able  to  imagine  what  had  brought  them  together.  Our 
English  proverb  says, 

'Tis  merry  in  the  hall, 
When  beards  wag  all. 

It  proved  so  in  an  assembly  I  am  now  speaking  of,  who  seeing  so 
many  peaks  of  faces  agitated  with  eating,  drinking,  and  discourse, 
and  observing  all  the  chins  that  were  present  meeting  together  very 
often  over  the  centre  of  the  table,  every  one  grew  sensible  of  the 
jest,  and  came  into  it  with  so  much  good-humour,  that  they  lived 
in  strict  friendship  and  alliance  from  that  day  forward. 

"  The  same  gentleman  some  time  after  packed  together  a  set  of 
oglers,  as  he  called  them,  consisting  of  such  as  had  an  unlucky  cast 
in  their  eyes.  His  diversion  on  this  occasion  was  to  see  the  cross 
bows,  mistaken  signs,  and  wrong  connivances  that  passed  amidst 
so  many  broken  and  refracted  rays  of  sight. 

"The  third  feast  which  this  merry  gentleman  exhibited  was  to 
the  stammerers,  whom  he  got  together  in  a  sufficient  body  to  fill 
his  table.  He  had  ordered  one  of  his  servants,  who  was  placed 
behind  a  screen,  to  write  down  their  table-talk,  which  was  very 
easy  to  be  done  without  the  help  of  short-hand.  It  appears  by  the 
notes  which  were  taken,  that  though  their  conversation  never  fell, 

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THE    SPECTATOR 

there  were  not  above  twenty  words  spoken  during  the  first  course; 
that  upon  serving  up  the  second,  one  of  the  company  was  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  in  telling  them,  that  the  ducklins  and  sparrow-grass 
was  very  good ;  and  that  another  took  up  the  same  time  in  declaring 
himself  of  the  same  opinion.  This  jest  did  not,  however,  go  off 
so  well  as  the  former;  for  one  of  the  guests  being  a  brave  man,  and 
fuller  of  resentment  than  he  knew  how  to  express,  went  out  of  the 
room,  and  sent  the  facetious  inviter  a  challenge  in  writing,  which 
though  it  was  afterwards  dropped  by  the  interposition  of  friends, 
put  a  stop  to  these  ludicrous  entertainments. 

"Now,  sir,  I  dare  say  you  will  agree  with  me,  that  as  there  is  no 
moral  in  these  jests,  they  ought  to  be  discouraged,  and  looked  upon 
rather  as  pieces  of  unluckiness  than  wit.  However,  as  it  is  natural 
for  one  man  to  refine  upon  the  thought  of  another,  and  impossible 
for  any  single  person,  how  great  soever  his  parts  may  be,  to  invent 
an  art,  and  bring  it  to  its  utmost  perfection ;  I  shall  here  give  you  an 
account  of  an  honest  gentleman  of  my  acquaintance,  who  upon 
hearing  the  character  of  the  wit  above-mentioned,  has  himself 
assumed  it,  and  endeavoured  to  convert  it  to  the  benefit  of  mankind. 
He  invited  half  a  dozen  of  his  friends  one  day  to  dinner,  who  were 
each  of  them  famous  for  inserting  several  redundant  phrases  in  their 
discourse,  as  '  D'ye  hear  me,  D'ye  see,  That  is,  And  so,  sir.'  Each 
of  the  guests  making  frequent  use  of  his  particular  elegance,  ap- 
peared so  ridiculous  to  his  neighbour,  that  he  could  not  but  reflect 
upon  himself  as  appearing  equally  ridiculous  to  the  rest  of  the 
company:  by  this  means,  before  they  had  sat  long  togther,  every 
<  ne  talking  with  the  greatest  circumspection,  and  carefully  avoiding 
his  favourite  expletive,  the  conversation  was  cleared  of  its  redun- 
dancies, and  had  a  greater  quantity  of  sense,  though  less  of  sound 
in  it. 

"The  same  well-meaning  gentleman  took  occasion  at  another 
time,  to  bring  together  such  of  his  friends  as  were  addicted  to  a 
foolish  habitual  custom  of  swearing.  In  order  to  show  them  the 
absurdity  of  the  practice,  he  had  recourse  to  the  invention  above- 
mentioned,  having  placed  an  amanuensis  in  a  private  part  of  the 
room.  After  the  second  bottle,  when  men  open  their  minds  without 
reserve,  my  honest  friend  began  to  take  notice  of  the  many  sonorous 
but  unnecessary  words  that  had  passed  in  his  house  since  then* 
sitting  down  at  table,  and  how  much  good  conversation  they  had 
lost  by  giving  way  to  such  superfluous  phrases.  What  a  tax,  says 

270 


THE  SPECTATOR 

he,  would  they  have  raised  for  the  poor,  had  we  put  the  laws  in 
execution  upon  one  another?  Every  one  of  them  took  this  gentle 
reproof  in  good  part:  upon  which  he  told  them,  that  knowing 
their  conversation  would  have  no  secrets  in  it,  he  had  ordered  it  to 
be  taken  down  in  writing,  and  for  the  humour-sake  would  read  it 
to  them  if  they  pleased.  There  were  ten  sheets  of  it,  which  might 
have  been  reduced  to  two,  had  there  not  been  those  abominable 
interpolations  I  have  before  mentioned.  Upon  the  reading  of  it 
in  cold  blood,  it  looked  rather  like  a  conference  of  fiends  than  of 
men.  In  short,  every  one  trembled  at  himself  upon  hearing  calmly 
what  he  had  pronounced  amidst  the  heat  and  inadvertency  of 
discourse. 

"I  shall  only  mention  another  occasion  wherein  he  made  use  of 
the  same  invention  to  cure  a  different  kind  of  men,  who  are  the 
pests  of  all  polite  conversation,  and  murder  time  as  much  as  either 
of  the  two  former,  though  they  do  it  more  innocently;  I  mean  that 
dull  generation  of  story-tellers.  My  friend  got  together  about  half 
a  dozen  of  his  acquaintance,  who  were  infected  with  this  strange 
malady.  The  first  day  one  of  them  sitting  down,  entered  upon  the 
siege  of  Namur,  which  lasted  till  four  o'clock,  their  time  of  parting. 
The  second  day  a  North  Briton  took  possession  of  the  discourse, 
which  it  was  impossible  to  get  out  of  his  hands  so  long  as  the  com- 
pany staid  together.  The  third  day  was  engrossed  after  the  same 
manner  by  a  story  of  the  same  length.  They  at  last  began  to  reflect 
upon  this  barbarous  way  of  treating  one  another,  and  by  this  means 
awakened  out  of  that  lethargy  with  which  each  of  them  had  been 
seized  for  several  years. 

"As  you  have  somewhere  declared,  that  extraordinary  and 
uncommon  characters  of  mankind  are  the  game  which  you  delight 
in,  and  as  I  look  upon  you  to  be  the  greatest  sportsman,  or,  if  you 
please,  the  Nimrod,  among  this  species  of  writers,  I  thought  this 
discovery  would  not  be  unacceptable  to  you. 

"I  am,  sir,"  &c. 


271 


THE   SPECTATOR 

ON    COMPASSION 

No.  397.]    THURSDAY,  JUNE  5,  1712.    [ADDISON.] 

—  Dolor  ipse  disertum 
Fecerat. —  OVID. 

AS  the  Stoic  philosophers  discard  all  passions  in  general,  they 
will  not  allow  a  wise  man  so  much  as  to  pity  the  afflictions 
of  another.  "  If  thou  seest  thy  friend  in  trouble,  (says  Epictetus,) 
thou  mayest  put  on  a  look  of  sorrow,  and  condole  with  him,  but 
take  care  that  thy  sorrow  be  not  real."  The  more  rigid  of  this 
sect  would  not  comply  so  far  as  to  show  even  such  an  outward 
appearance  of  grief;  but  when  one  told  them  of  any  calamity  that 
had  befallen  even  the  nearest  of  their  acquaintance,  would  imme- 
diately reply,  "What  is  that  to  me?"  If  you  aggravated  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  affliction,  and  showed  how  one  misfortune  was 
followed  by  another,  the  answer  was  still,  "All  this  may  be  true, 
but  what  is  it  to  me?" 

For  my  own  part,  I  am  of  opinion,  compassion  does  not  only 
refine  and  civilize  human  nature,  but  has  something  in  it  more 
pleasing  and  agreeable  than  what  can  be  met  with  in  such  an  indo- 
lent happiness,  such  an  indifference  to  mankind,  as  that  in  which 
the  Stoics  placed  their  wisdom.  As  love  is  the  most  delightful 
passion,  pity  is  nothing  else  but  love  softened  by  a  degree  of  sorrow : 
in  short,  it  is  a  kind  of  pleasing  anguish,  as  weh1  as  generous  sym- 
pathy, that  knits  mankind  together,  and  blends  them  in  the  same 
common  lot. 

Those  who  have  laid  down  rules  for  rhetoric  or  poetry,  advise 
the  writer  to  work  himself  up,  if  possible,  to  the  pitch  of  sorrow 
which  he  endeavours  to  produce  in  others.  There  are  none,  there- 
fore, who  stir  up  pity  so  much  as  those  who  indite  their  own  suffer- 
ings. Grief  has  a  natural  eloquence  belonging  to  it,  and  breaks 
out  in  more  moving  sentiments  than  can  be  supplied  by  the  finest 
imagination.  Nature  on  this  occasion  dictates  a  thousand  passion- 
ate things  which  cannot  be  supplied  by  art. 

It  is  for  this  reason  that  the  short  speeches  or  sentences  which 
we  often  meet  with  in  histories,  make  a  deeper  impression  on  the 
mind  of  the  reader  than  the  most  laboured  strokes  in  a  well-written 

272 


THE    SPECTATOR 

tragedy.  Truth  and  matter  of  fact  sets  the  person  actually  before 
us  in  the  one,  whom  fiction  places  at  a  greater  distance  from  us  in 
the  other.  I  do  not  remember  to  have  seen  any  ancient  or  modern 
story  more  affecting  than  a  letter  of  Ann  of  Bologne,  wife  to  King 
Henry  the  Eighth,  and  mother  to  Queen  Elizabeth,  which  is  still 
extant  in  the  Cotton  library,  as  written  by  her  own  hand. 

Shakspeare  himself  could  not  have  made  her  talk  in  a  strain  so 
suitable  to  her  condition  and  character.  One  sees  in  it  the  expostu- 
lations of  a  slighted  lover,  the  resentments  of  an  injured  woman, 
and  the  sorrows  of  an  imprisoned  queen.  I  need  not  acquaint  my 
reader  that  this  princess  was  then  under  prosecution  for  disloyalty 
to  the  king's  bed,  and  that  she  was  afterwards  publicly  beheaded 
upon  the  same  account,  though  this  prosecution  was  believed  by 
many  to  proceed,  as  she  herself  intimates,  rather  from  the  king's 
love  to  Jane  Seymour,  than  from  any  actual  crime  in  Ann  of 
Bologne. 

Queen  Ann  Boleyn's  last  Letter  to  King  Henry. 

"SiR,  —  Your  Grace's  displeasure,  and  my  imprisonment,  are 
things  so  strange  unto  me,  as  what  to  write,  or  what  to  excuse,  I 
am  altogether  ignorant.  Whereas  you  send  unto  me  (willing  me 
to  confess  a  truth,  and  so  obtain  your  favour)  by  such  an  one,  whom 
you  know  to  be  mine  ancient  professed  enemy.  I  no  sooner  re- 
ceived this  message  by  him  than  I  rightly  conceived  your  meaning; 
and  if,  as  you  say,  confessing  a  truth,  indeed  may  procure  my  safety, 
I  shall  with  all  willingness  and  duty  perform  your  command. 

"  But  let  not  your  Grace  ever  imagine  that  your  poor  wife  will  ever 
be  brought  to  acknowledge  a  fault,  where  not  so  much  as  a  thought 
thereof  preceded.  And  to  speak  a  truth,  never  prince  had  wife 
more  loyal  in  all  duty,  and  in  all  true  affection,  than  you  have  ever 
found  in  Ann  Boleyn :  with  which  name  and  place  I  could  willingly 
have  contented  myself,  if  God  and  your  Grace's  pleasure  had  been 
so  pleased.  Neither  did  I  at  any  time  so  far  forget  myself  in  my 
exaltation,  or  received  queenship,  but  that  I  always  looked  for  such 
an  alteration  as  now  I  find ;  for  the  ground  of  my  preferment  being 
on  no  surer  foundation  than  your  Grace's  fancy,  the  least  altera- 
tion I  knew  was  fit  and  sufficient  to  draw  that  fancy  to  some  other 
subject.  You  have  chosen  me,  from  a  low  estate,  to  be  your  queen 
and  companion,  far  beyond  my  desert  and  desire.  If  then  you 

273 


THE   SPECTATOR 

found  me  worthy  of  such  honour,  good  your  Grace  let  not  any  light 
fancy,  or  bad  counsel  of  mine  enemies  withdraw  your  princely 
favour  from  me;  neither  let  that  stain,  that  unworthy  stain,  of  a 
disloyal  heart  towards  your  good  Grace,  ever  cast  so  foul  a  blot  on 
your  most  dutiful  wife,  and  the  infant  princess  your  daughter. 
Try  me,  good  king,  but  let  me  have  a  lawful  trial,  and  let  not  my 
sworn  enemies  sit  as  my  accusers  and  judges;  yea,  let  me  receive 
an  open  trial,  for  my  truth  shall  fear  no  open  shame;  then  shall  you 
see  either  mine  innocency  cleared,  your  suspicion  and  conscience 
satisfied,  the  ignominy  and  slander  of  the  world  stopped,  or  my 
guilt  openly  declared.  So  that  whatsoever  God  or  you  may  deter- 
mine of  me,  your  Grace  may  be  freed  from  an  open  censure,  and 
mine  offence  being  so  lawfully  proved,  your  Grace  is  at  liberty,  both 
before  God  and  man,  not  only  to  execute  worthy  punishment  on  me 
as  an  unlawful  wife,  but  to  follow  your  affection,  already  settled  on 
that  party,  for  whose  sake  I  am  now  as  I  am,  whose  name  I  could 
some  good  while  since  have  pointed  unto,  your  Grace  being  not  ig- 
norant of  my  suspicion  therein. 

"  But  if  you  have  already  determined  of  me,  and  that  not  only  my 
death,  but  an  infamous  slander  must  bring  you  the  enjoying  of  your 
desired  happiness;  then  I  desire  of  God,  that  he  will  pardon  your 
great  sin  therein,  and  likewise  mine  enemies,  the  instruments  there- 
of; and  that  he  will  not  call  you  to  a  strict  account  for -your  un- 
princely  and  cruel  usage  of  me,  at  his  general  judgment-seat,  where 
both  you  and  myself  must  shortly  appear,  and  in  whose  judgment  I 
doubt  not  (whatsoever  the  world  may  think  of  me)  mine  innocence 
shall  be  openly  known  and  sufficiently  cleared. 

"My  last  and  only  request  shall  be,  that  myself  may  only  bear 
the  burden  of  your  Grace's  displeasure,  and  that  it  may  not  touch 
the  innocent  souls  of  those  poor  gentlemen  who  (as  I  understand) 
are  likewise  in  strait  imprisonment  for  my  sake.  If  ever  I  have 
found  favour  in  your  sight,  if  ever  the  name  of  Ann  Boleyn  hath 
been  pleasing  in  your  ears,  then  let  me  obtain  this  request,  and  I 
will  so  leave  to  trouble  your  Grace  any  further,  with  mine  earnest 
prayers  to  the  Trinity  to  have  your  Grace  in  his  good  keeping,  and 
to  direct  you  in  all  your  actions.  From  my  doleful  prison  in  the 
Tower,  this  sixth  of  May. 

"Your  most  loyal  and  ever  faithful  wife, 

ANN  BOLEYN." 


274 


THE    SPECTATOR 

ON   THE   DEATH    OF   THE   KING   OF 
FRANCE 

No.  403.]    THURSDAY,  JUNE  12,  1712.    [ADDISON.] 

Qui  mores  hominum  multorum  vidit. — HOR. 

WHEN  I  consider  this  great  city  in  its  several  quarters  and  di- 
visions, I  look  upon  it  as  an  aggregate  of  various  nations,  dis- 
tinguished from  each  other  by  their  respective  customs,  manners,  and 
interests.  The  courts  of  two  countries  do  not  so  much  differ  from 
one  another,  as  the  court  and  city  in  their  peculiar  ways  of  life  and 
conversation.  In  short,  the  inhabitants  of  St.  James's,  notwith- 
standing they  live  under  the  same  laws,  and  speak  the  same  lan- 
guage, are  a  distinct  people  from  those  of  Cheapside,  who  are  like- 
wise removed  from  those  of  the  Temple  on  the  one  side,  and  those 
of  Smithfield  on  the  other,  by  several  climates  and  degrees  in  their 
way  of  thinking  and  conversing  together. 

For  this  reason,  when  any  public  affair  is  upon  the  anvil,  I  love  to 
hear  the  reflections  that  arise  upon  it  in  the  several  districts  and 
parishes  of  London  and  Westminster,  and  to  ramble  up  and  down 
a  whole  day  together,  in  order  to  make  myself  acquainted  with  the 
opinions  of  my  ingenious  countrymen.  By  this  means  I  know  the 
faces  of  all  the  principal  politicians  within  the  bills  of  mortality; 
and  as  every  coffee-house  has  some  particular  statesman  belonging 
to  it,  who  is  the  mouth  of  the  street  where  he  lives,  I  always  take  care 
to  place  myself  near  him,  in  order  to  know  his  judgment  on  the  pres- 
ent posture  of  affairs.  The  last  progress  that  I  made  with  this  in- 
tention, was  about  three  months  ago,  when  we  had  a  current  report 
of  the  king  of  France's  death.  As  I  foresaw  this  would  produce  a 
new  face  of  things  in  Europe,  and  many  curious  speculations  in  our 
British  coffee-houses,  I  was  very  desirous  to  learn  the  thoughts  of 
our  most  eminent  politicians  on  that  occasion. 

That  I  might  begin  as  near  the  fountain-head  as  possible,  I  first 
of  all  called  in  at  St.  James's,  where  I  found  the  whole  outward 
room  in  a  buzz  of  politics.  The  speculations  were  but  very  indiffer- 
ent towards  the  door,  but  grew  finer  as  you  advanced  to  the  upper 
end  of  the  room,  and  were  so  very  much  improved  by  a  knot  of 
theorists  who  sat  in  the  inner  room,  within  the  steams  of  the  coffee- 

275 


THE    SPECTATOR 

pot,  that  I  there  heard  the  whole  Spanish  monarchy  disposed  of, 
and  all  the  line  of  Bourbon  provided  for,  in  less  than  a  quarter 
of  an  hour. 

I  afterwards  called  in  at  Giles's,  where  I  saw  a  board  of  French 
gentlemen  sitting  upon  the  life  and  death  of  their  Grand  Monarque. 
Those  among  them  who  had  espoused  the  Whig  interest,  very 
positively  affirmed,  that  he  departed  this  life  about  a  week  since, 
and  therefore  proceeded  without  any  further  delay  to  the  release 
of  their  friends  on  the  galleys,  and  to  their  own  re-establishment; 
but  finding  they  could  not  agree  among  themselves,  I  proceeded 
on  my  intended  progress. 

Upon  my  arrival  at  Jenny  Man's,  I  saw  an  alert  young  fellow 
that  cocked  his  hat  upon  a  friend  of  his  who  entered  just  at  the 
same  time  with  myself,  and  accosted  him  after  the  following  manner : 
"  Well  Jack,  the  old  prig  is  dead  at  last.  Sharp's  the  word.  Now 
or  never  boy.  Up  to  the  walls  of  Paris  directly."  With  several 
other  deep  reflections  of  the  same  nature. 

I  met  with  very  little  variation  in  the  politics  between  Charing 
Cross  and  Covent  Garden.  And  upon  my  going  into  Will.'s,  I 
found  their  discourse  was  gone  off  from  the  death  of  the  French 
king  to  that  of  Monsieur  Boileau,  Racine,  Corneille,  and  several 
other  poets,  whom  they  regretted  on  this  occasion,  as  persons  who 
would  have  obliged  the  world  with  very  noble  elegies  on  the  death 
of  so  great  a  prince,  and  so  eminent  a  patron  of  learning. 

At  a  coffee-house  near  the  Temple,  I  found  a  couple  of  young 
gentlemen  engaged  very  smartly  in  a  dispute  on  the  succession  to 
the  Spanish  monarchy.  One  of  them  seemed  to  have  been  retained 
as  advocate  for  the  Duke  of  Anjou,  the  other  for  his  Imperial  Maj- 
esty. They  were  both  for  regulating  the  title  to  that  kingdom 
by  the  statute  laws  of  England ;  but  finding  them  going  out  of  my 
depth,  I  passed  forward  to  Paul's  Churchyard,  where  I  listened 
with  great  attention  to  a  learned  man,  who  gave  the  company  an 
account  of  the  deplorable  state  of  France  during  the  minority  of  the 
deceased  king. 

I  then  turned  my  right  hand  into  Fish  Street,  where  the  chief 
politician  of  that  quarter,  upon  hearing  the  news,  (after  having 
taken  a  pipe  of  tobacco,  and  ruminating  for  some  time,)  "  If,  (says 
he,)  the  king  of  France  is  certainly  dead,  we  shall  have  plenty  of 
mackerel  this  season;  our  fishery  will  not  be  disturbed  by  priva- 
teers, as  it  has  been  for  these  ten  years  past."  He  afterwards  con- 

276 


THE    SPECTATOR 

sidered  how  the  death  of  this  great  man  would  affect  our  pilchards, 
and  by  several  other  remarks  infused  a  general  joy  into  his  whole 
audience. 

I  afterwards  entered  by  a  coffee-house  that  stood  at  the  upper 
end  of  a  narrow  lane,  where  I  met  with  a  Nonjuror,  engaged  very 
warmly  with  a  Laceman  who  was  the  great  support  of  a  neighbour- 
ing conventicle.  The  matter  in  debate  was,  whether  the  late  French 
king  was  most  like  Augustus  Caesar  or  Nero.  The  controversy 
was  carried  on  with  great  heat  on  both  sides,  and  as  each  of  them 
looked  upon  me  very  frequently  during  the  course  of  their  debate, 
I  was  under  some  apprehension  that  they  would  appeal  to  me,  and 
therefore  laid  down  my  penny  at  the  bar,  and  made  the  best  of  my 
way  to  Cheapside. 

I  here  gazed  upon  the  signs  for  some  time  before  I  found  one  to 
my  purpose.  The  first  object  I  met  in  the  coffee-room  was  a  person 
who  expressed  a  great  grief  for  the  death  of  the  French  king;  but 
upon  his  explaining  himself,  I  found  his  sorrow  did  not  arise  from 
the  loss  of  the  monarch,  but  for  his  having  sold  out  of  the  bank 
about  three  days  before  he  heard  the  news  of  it;  upon  which  a  haber- 
dasher, who  was  the  oracle  of  the  coffee-house,  and  had  his  circle 
of  admirers  about  him,  called  several  to  witness  that  he  had  de- 
clared his  opinion  above  a  week  before,  that  the  French  king  was 
certainly  dead;  to  which  he  added,  that  considering  the  late  advices 
we  had  received  from  France,  it  was  impossible  that  it  could  be 
otherwise.  As  he  was  laying  these  together,  and  dictating  to  his 
hearers  with  great  authority,  there  came  in  a  gentleman  from  Garra- 
way's,  who  told  us  that  there  were  several  letters  from  France  just 
come  in,  with  advice  that  the  king  was  in  good  health,  and  was 
gone  out  a  hunting  the  very  morning  the  post  came  away:  upon 
which  the  haberdasher  stole  off  his  hat  that  hung  upon  a  wooden 
peg  by  him,  and  retired  to  his  shop  with  great  confusion.  This 
intelligence  put  a  stop  to  my  travels,  which  I  had  prosecuted  with 
much  satisfaction ;  not  being  a  little  pleased  to  hear  so  many  differ- 
ent opinions  upon  so  great  an  event,  and  to  observe  how  naturally 
upon  such  a  piece  of  news  every  one  is  apt  to  consider  it  with  a 
regard  to  his  own  particular  interest  and  advantage. 


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ON   FEMALE   EXTRAVAGANCES 

No.  435.]    SATURDAY,  JULY  19,  1712.     [ADDISON.] 

Nee  duo  sunt  at  forma  duplex,  nee  fcemina  dici 

Nee  puer  ut  possint,  neutrumque  et  utrumque  videntur. 

OVIB.  Met.  iv.  378. 

Both  bodies  in  a  single  body  mix, 
A  single  body  with  a  double  sex. 

MOST  of  the  papers  I  give  the  public  are  written  on  subjects  that 
never  vary,  but  are  for  ever  fixed  and  immutable.  Of  this 
kind  are  all  my  more  serious  essays  and  discourses;  but  there  is 
another  sort  of  speculations,  which  I  consider  as  occasional  papers, 
that  take  their  rise  from  the  folly,  extravagance,  and  caprice  of  the 
present  agei  For  I  look  upon  myself  as  one  set  to  watch  the 
manners  and  behaviour  of  my  countrymen  and  contemporaries, 
and  to  mark  down  every  absurd  fashion,  ridiculous  custom,  or 
affected  form  of  speech,  that  makes  its  appearance  in  the  world 
during  the  course  of  my  speculations.  The  petticoat  no  sooner 
began  to  swell,  but  I  observed  its  motions.  The  party-patches  had 
not  time  to  muster  themselves  before  I  detected  them.  I  had 
intelligence  of  the  coloured  hood  the  very  first  time  it  appeared  in  a 
public  assembly.  I  might  here  mention  several  other  the  like  con- 
tingent subjects,  upon  which  I  have  bestowed  distinct  papers.  By 
this  means  I  have  so  effectually  quashed  those  irregularities  which 
gave  occasion  to  them,  that  I  am  afraid  posterity  will  scarce  have  a 
sufficient  idea  of  them  to  relish  those  discourses  which  were  in  no 
little  vogue  at  the  time  they  were  written.  They  will  be  apt  to 
think  that  the  fashions  and  customs  I  attacked  were  some  fantastic 
conceits  of  my  own,  and  that  their  great  grandmothers  could  not  be 
so  whimsical  as  I  have  represented  them.  For  this  reason,  when  I 
think  on  the  figure  my  several  volumes  of  speculations  will  make 
about  a  hundred  years  hence,  I  consider  them  as  so  many  pieces  of 
old  plate,  where  the  weight  will  be  regarded,  but  the  fashion  lost. 

Among  the  several  female  extravagances  I  have  already  taken 
notice  of,  there  is  one  which  still  keeps  its  ground.  I  mean,  that  of 
the  ladies  who  dress  themselves  in  a  hat  and  feather,  a  riding  coat 
and  periwig,  or  at  least  tie  up  their  hair  in  a  bag  or  riband,  in  imita- 

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tion  of  the  smart  part  of  the  opposite  sex.  As  in  my  yesterday's 
paper  I  gave  an  account  of  the  mixture  of  two  sexes  in  one  common- 
wealth, I  shall  here  take  notice  of  this  mixture  of  two  sexes  in  one 
person.  I  have  already  shown  my  dislike  of  this  immodest  custom 
more  than  once;  but,  in  contempt  of  everything  I  have  hitherto 
said,  I  am  informed  that  the  highways  about  this  great  city  are  still 
very  much  infested  with  these  female  cavaliers. 

I  remember  when  I  was  at  my  friend  Sir  Roger  de  Coverley's 
about  this  time  twelvemonth,  an  equestrian  lady  of  this  order 
appeared  upon  the  plains  which  lay  at  a  distance  from  his  house.  I 
was  at  the  time  walking  in  the  fields  with  my  old  friend;  and  as 
his  tenants  ran  out  on  every  side  to  see  so  strange  a  sight,  sir  Roger 
asked  one  of  them  who  came  by  us,  what  it  was?  To  which  the 
country  fellow  replied, '  'Tis  a  gentlewoman,  saving  your  worship's 
presence,  in  a  coat  and  hat.'  This  produced  a  great  deal  of  mirth 
at  the  knight's  house,  where  we  had  a  story  at  the  same  time  of 
another  of  his  tenants,  who,  meeting  this  gentleman -like  lady  on 
the  highway,  was  asked  by  her  whether  that  was  Coverley-hall  ? 
The  honest  man  seeing  only  the  male  part  of  the  querist,  replied, 
'Yes,  Sir;'  but  upon  the  second  question,  whether  Sir  Roger  de 
Coverley  was  a  married  man?  having  dropped  his  eye  upon  the 
petticoat,  he  changed  his  note  into  'No,  Madam.' 

Had  one  of  these  hermaphrodites  appeared  in  Juvenal's  days, 
with  what  an  indignation  should  we  have  seen  her  described  by 
that  excellent  satirist!  He  would  have  represented  her  in  a  riding 
habit,  as  a  greater  monster  than  the  centaur.  He  would  have  called 
for  sacrifices  of  purifying  waters,  to  expiate  the  appearance  of  such 
a  prodigy.  He  would  have  invoked  the  shades  of  Portia  or  Lucre- 
tia,  to  see  into  what  the  Roman  ladies  had  transformed  themselves. 

For  my  own  part,  I  am  for  treating  the  sex  with  greater  tenderness, 
and  have  all  along  made  use  of  the  most  gentle  methods  to  bring 
them  off  from  any  little  extravagance  into  which  they  have  some- 
times unwarily  fallen.  I  think  it  however  absolutely  necessary  to 
keep  up  the  partition  between  the  two  sexes,  and  to  take  notice  of 
the  smallest  encroachment  which  the  one  makes  upon  the  other. 
I  hope  therefore  I  shall  not  hear  any  more  complaints  on  this  subject. 
I  am  sure  my  she-disciples,  who  peruse  these  my  daily  lectures,  have 
profited  but  little  by  them,  if  they  are  capable  of  giving  in  to  such 
an  amphibious  dress.  This  I  should  not  have  mentioned,  had  I 
not  lately  met  one  of  these  my  female  readers  in  Hyde-park,  who 

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looked  upon  me  with  a  masculine  assurance,  and  cocked  her  hat 
full  in  my  face. 

For  my  part,  I  have  one  general  key  to  the  behaviour  of  the  fair 
sex.  When  I  see  them  singular  in  any  part  of  their  dress,  I  con- 
clude it  is  not  without  some  evil  intention:  and  therefore  question 
not  but  the  design  of  this  strange  fashion  is  to  smite  more  effectually 
their  male  beholders.  Now  to  set  them  right  in  this  particular,  I 
would  fain  have  them  consider  for  themselves,  whether  we  are 
not  more  likely  to  be  struck  by  a  figure  entirely  female,  than  with 
such  an  one  as  we  may  see  every  day  in  our  glasses.  Or,  if  they 
please,  let  them  reflect  upon  their  own  hearts,  and  think  how  they 
would  be  affected  should  they  meet  a  man  on  horseback,  in  his 
breeches  and  jack-boots,  and  at  the  same  time  dressed  up  in  a 
commode  and  a  nightrail. 

I  must  observe  that  this  fashion  was  first  of  all  brought  to  us  from 
France,  a  country  which  has  infected  all  the  nations  of  Europe  with 
its  levity.  I  speak  not  this  in  derogation  of  a  whole  people,  having 
more  than  once  found  fault  with  those  general  reflections  which 
strike  at  kingdoms  or  commonwealths  in  the  gross:  a  piece  of  cruelty, 
which  an  ingenious  writer  of  our  own  compares  to  that  of  Caligula, 
who  wished  that  the  Roman  people  had  all  but  one  neck,  that  he 
might  behead  them  at  a  blow.  I  shall  therefore  only  remark,  that, 
as  liveliness  and  assurance  are  in  a  peculiar  manner  the  qualifications 
of  the  French  nation,  the  same  habits  and  customs  will  not  give  the 
same  offence  to  that  people  which  they  produce  among  those  of 
our  own  country.  Modesty  is  our  distinguishing  character,  as 
vivacity  is  theirs:  and  when  this  our  national  virtue  appears  in  that 
female  beauty  for  which  our  British  ladies  are  celebrated  above  all 
others  in  the  universe,  it  makes  up  the  most  amiable  object  that  the 
eye  of  man  can  possibly  behold.  C. 


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THE    SPECTATOR 


CUSTOM 

No.  447.]    SATURDAY,  AUGUST  2,  1712.    [ADDISON.] 

<f>l\f  ical  6fy 
v  elvai. 

Long  exercise,  my  friend,  inures  the  mind; 
And  what  we  once  disliked,  we  pleasing  find. 

THERE  is  not  a  common  saying  which  has  a  better  turn  of  sense 
in  it,  than  what  we  often  hear  in  the  mouths  of  the  vulgar, 
that  "  custom  is  a  second  nature."  It  is  indeed  able  to  form  the 
man  anew,  and  to  give  him  inclinations  and  capacities  altogether 
different  from  those  he  was  born  with.  Dr.  Plot,  in  his  history  of 
Staffordshire,  tells  us  of  an  idiot,  that,  chancing  to  live  within  the 
sound  of  a  clock,  and  always  amusing  himself  with  counting  the 
hour  of  the  day  whenever  the  clock  struck,  the  clock  being  spoiled 
by  accident,  the  idiot  continued  to  strike  and  count  the  hour  with- 
out the  help  of  it,  in  the  same  manner  as  he  had  done  when  it  was 
entire.  Though  I  dare  not  vouch  for  the  truth  of  this  story,  it  is 
very  certain  that  custom  has  a  mechanical  effect  upon  the  body,  at 
the  same  time  that  it  has  a  very  extraordinary  influence  upon  the 
mind. 

I  shall  in  this  paper  consider  one  very  remarkable  effect  which 
custom  has  upon  human  nature,  and  which,  if  rightly  observed,  may 
lead  us  into  very  useful  rules  of  life.  What  I  shall  here  take  notice 
of  in  custom,  is  its  wonderful  efficacy  in  making  everything  pleas- 
ant to  us.  A  person  who  is  addicted  to  play  or  gaming,  though  he 
took  but  little  delight  in  it  at  first,  by  degrees  contracts  so  strong  an 
inclination  towards  it,  and  gives  himself  up  so  entirely  to  it,  that  it 
seems  the  only  end  of  his  being.  The  love  of  a  retired  or  busy  life 
will  grow  upon  a  man  insensibly,  as  he  is  conversant  in  the  one  or 
the  other,  until  he  is  utterly  unqualified  for  relishing  that  to  which 
he  has  been  for  some  time  disused.  Nay,  a  man  may  smoke,  or 
drink,  or  take  snuff,  until  he  is  unable  to  pass  away  his  time  without 
it;  not  to  mention  how  our  delights  in  any  particular  study,  art,  or 
science,  rises  and  improves  in  proportion  to  the  application  which 
we  bestow  upon  it.  Thus,  what  was  at  first  an  exercise,  becomes 
at  length  an  entertainment.  Our  employments  are  changed  into 

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our  diversions.  The  mind  grows  fond  of  those  actions  which  she  is 
accustomed  to,  and  is  drawn  with  reluctancy  from  those  paths  in 
which  she  has  been  used  to  walk. 

Not  only  such  actions  as  were  at  first  indifferent  to  us,  but  even 
such  as  are  painful,  will  by  custom  and  practice  become  pleasant. 
Sir  Francis  Bacon  observes  in  his  natural  philosophy,  that  our  taste 
is  never  pleased  better  than  with  those  things  which  at  first  created 
a  disgust  in  it.  He  gives  particular  instances,  of  claret,  coffee,  and 
other  liquors,  which  the  palate  seldom  approves  upon  the  first  taste; 
but,  when  it  has  once  got  a  relish  for  them,  generally  retains  it  for 
life.  The  mind  is  constituted  after  the  same  manner;  and,  after 
having  habituated  herself  to  any  particular  exercise  or  employment, 
not  only  loses  her  first  aversion  towards  it,  but  conceives  a  certain 
fondness  and  affection  for  it.  I  have  heard  one  of  the  greatest 
geniuses  this  age  has  produced,  who  had  been  trained  up  in  all  the 
polite  studies  of  antiquity,  assure  me,  upon  his  being  obliged  to 
search  into  several  rolls  and  records,  that,  notwithstanding  such  an 
employment  was  at  first  very  dry  and  irksome  to  him,  he  at  last  took 
an  incredible  pleasure  in  it,  and  preferred  it  even  to  the  reading  of 
Virgil  or  Cicero.  The  reader  will  observe  that  I  have  not  here  con- 
sidered custom  as  it  makes  things  easy,  but  as  it  renders  them  de- 
lightful; and  though  others  have  often  made  the  same  reflections, 
it  is  possible  they  may  not  have  drawn  those  uses  from  it,  with  which 
I  intend  to  fill  the  remaining  part  of  this  paper. 

If  we  consider  attentively  this  property  of  human  nature,  it  may 
instruct  us  in  very  fine  moralities.  In  the  first  place,  I  would  have 
no  man  discouraged  with  that  kind  of  life,  or  series  of  action,  in 
which  the  choice  of  others,  or  his  own  necessities,  may  have  engaged 
him.  It  may  perhaps  be  very  disagreeable  to  him  at  first;  but  use 
and  application  will  certainly  render  it  not  only  less  painful, 
but  pleasing  and  satisfactory. 

In  the  second  place,  I  would  recommend  to  every  one  that  ad- 
mirable precept  which  Pythagoras  is  said  to  have  given  to  his  disci- 
ples, and  which  that  philosopher  must  have  drawn  from  the  observa- 
tion I  have  enlarged  upon.  Optimum  wia  genus  eligito,  nam  con- 
suetudo  faciet  jucundissimum;  "Pitch  upon  that  course  of  life  which 
is  the  most  excellent,  and  custom  will  render  it  the  most  delightful." 
Men,  whose  circumstances  will  permit  them  to  choose  their  own 
way  of  life,  are  inexcusable  if  they  do  not  pursue  that  which  their 
judgment  tells  them  is  the  most  laudable.  The  voice  of  reason  is 

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THE   SPECTATOR 

more  to  be  regarded  than  the  bent  of  any  present  inclination,  since, 
by  the  rule  above-mentioned,  inclination  will  at  length  come  over  to 
reason,  though  we  can  never  force  reason  to  comply  with  inclination. 

In  the  third  place,  this  observation  may  teach  the  most  sensual 
and  irreligious  man  to  overlook  those  hardships  and  difficulties 
which  are  apt  to  discourage  him  from  the  prosecution  of  a  virtuous 
life.  "The  gods,"  said  Hesiod,  "have  placed  labour  before  virtue; 
the  way  to  her  is  at  first  rough  and  difficult,  but  grows  more  smooth 
and  easy  the  farther  you  advance  in  it."  The  man  who  proceeds 
in  it  with  steadiness  and  resolution,  will  in  a  little  time  find  that  "her 
ways  are  ways  of  pleasantness,  and  that  all  her  paths  are  peace." 

To  enforce  this  consideration,  we  may  further  observe,  that  the 
practice  of  religion  will  not  only  be  attended  with  that  pleasure 
which  naturally  accompanies  those  actions  to  which  we  are  habit- 
uated, but  with  those  supernumerary  joys  of  heart  that  rise  from  the 
consciousness  of  such  a  pleasure,  from  the  satisfaction  of  acting  up 
to  the  dictates  of  reason,  and  from  the  prospect  of  an  happy  immor- 
tality. 

In  the  fourth  place,  we  may  learn  from  this  observation,  which 
we  have  made  on  the  mind  of  man,  to  take  particular  care,  when 
we  are  once  settled  in  a  regular  course  of  life,  how  we  too  frequently 
indulge  ourselves  in  any  of  the  most  innocent  diversions  and  enter- 
tainments ;  since  the  mind  may  insensibly  fall  off  from  the  relish  of 
virtuous  actions,  and,  by  degrees,  exchange  that  pleasure  which  it 
takes  in  the  performance  of  its  duty  for  delights  of  a  much  more 
inferior  and  unprofitable  nature. 

The  last  use  which  I  shall  make  of  this  remarkable  property  in 
human  nature,  of  being  delighted  with  those  actions  to  which  it  is 
accustomed,  is  to  show  how  absolutely  necessary  it  is  for  us  to  gain 
habits  of  virtue  in  this  life,  if  we  would  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  the 
next.  The  state  of  bliss  we  call  heaven  will  not  be  capable  of  affect- 
ing those  minds  which  are  not  thus  qualified  for  it ;  we  must,  in  this 
world,  gain  a  relish  of  truth  and  virtue,  if  we  would  be  able  to  taste 
that  knowledge  and  perfection  which  are  to  make  us  happy  in  the 
next.  The  seeds  of  those  spiritual  joys  and  raptures,  which  are  to 
rise  up  and  flourish  in  the  soul  to  all  eternity,  must  be  planted  in  her 
during  this  her  present  state  of  probation.  In  short,  heaven  is  not 
to  be  looked  upon  only  as  the  reward,  but  as  the  natural  effect  of  a 
religious  life. 

On  the  other  hand,  those  evil  spirits,  who,  by  long  custom,  have 

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THE    SPECTATOR 

contracted  in  the  body  habits  of  lust  and  sensuality,  malice  and  re- 
venge, an  aversion  to  everything  that  is  good,  just,  or  laudable,  are 
naturally  seasoned  and  prepared  for  pain  and  misery.  Their  tor- 
ments have  already  taken  root  in  them;  they  cannot  be  happy  when 
divested  of  the  body,  unless  we  may  suppose  that  Providence  will 
hi  a  manner  create  them  anew,  and  work  a  miracle  in  the  rectifica- 
tion of  their  faculties.  They  may,  indeed,  taste  a  kind  of  malig- 
nant pleasure  hi  those  actions  to  which  they  are  accustomed,  whilst 
in  this  life ;  but  when  they  are  removed  from  all  those  objects  which 
are  here  apt  to  gratify  them,  they  will  naturally  become  their  own 
tormentors,  and  cherish  in  themselves  those  painful  habits  of  mind 
which  are  called  in  scripture  phrase,  "the  worm  which  never  dies." 
This  notion  of  heaven  and  hell  is  so  conformable  to  the  light  cf  na- 
ture, that  it  was  discovered  by  several  of  the  most  exalted  heathens. 
It  has  been  finely  improved  by  many  eminent  divines  of  the  last  age, 
as  hi  particular  by  Archbishop  Tillotson  and  Dr.  Sherlock:  but 
there  is  none  who  has  raised  such  noble  speculations  upon  it  as  Dr. 
Scott,  in  the  first  book  of  his  Christian  Life,  which  is  one  of  the  finest 
and  most  rational  schemes  of  divinity  that  is  written  in  our  tongue, 
or  in  any  other.  That  excellent  author  has  shown  how  every  par- 
ticular custom  and  habit  of  virtue  will,  hi  its  own  nature,  produce 
the  heaven,  or  a  state  of  happiness,  in  him  who  shall  hereafter  prac- 
tise it :  as,  on  the  contrary,  how  every  custom  or  habit  of  vice  will 
be  the  natural  hell  of  him  in  whom  it  subsists.  C. 


ON   NEWS-WRITERS   AND    READERS 

No.  452.]    FRIDAY,  AUGUST  8,  1712.    [ADDISON.] 

Est  natura  hominum  novitatis  avida. — PLIN.  APUD  LILLIUM. 

THERE  is  no  humour  hi  my  countrymen,  which  I  am  more 
inclined  to  wonder  at,  than  their  general  thirst  after  news. 
There  are  about  half  a  dozen  ingenious  men,  who  live  very  plenti- 
fully upon  this  curiosity  of  their  fellow-subjects.  They  all  of  them 
receive  the  same  advices  from  abroad,  and  very  often  hi  the  same 
words;  but  their  way  of  cooking  it  is  so  different,  that  there  is  no 
citizen,  who  has  an  eye  to  the  public  good,  that  can  leave  the  coffee- 

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THE    SPECTATOR 

house  with  peace  of  mind,  before  he  has  given  every  one  of  them 
a  reading.  These  several  dishes  of  news  are  so  very  agreeable 
to  the  palate  of  my  countrymen,  that  they  are  not  only  pleased 
with  them  when  they  are  served  up  hot,  but  when  they  are  again 
set  cold  before  them  by  those  penetrating  politicians,  who  oblige 
the  public  with  their  reflections  and  observations  upon  every  piece 
of  intelligence  that  is  sent  us  from  abroad.  The  text  is  given  us 
by  one  set  of  writers,  and  the  comment  by  another. 

But  notwithstanding  we  have  the  same  tale  told  us  in  so  many 
different  papers,  and  if  occasion  requires,  in  so  many  articles  of 
the  same  paper;  notwithstanding  in  a  scarcity  of  foreign  posts  we 
hear  the  same  story  repeated,  by  different  advices  from  Paris, 
Brussels,  the  Hague,  and  from  every  great  town  in  Europe;  not- 
withstanding the  multitude  of  annotations,  explanations,  reflec- 
tions, and  various  readings  which  it  passes  through,  our  time  lies 
heavy  on  our  hands  till  the  arrival  cf  a  fresh  mail:  we  long  to  receive 
further  particulars,  to  hear  what  will  be  the  next  step,  or  what  will 
be  the  consequence  of  that  which  has  been  lately  taken.  A  westerly 
wind  keeps  the  whole  town  in  suspense,  and  puts  a  stop  to  conver- 
sation. 

This  general  curiosity  has  been  raised  and  inflamed  by  our  late 
wars,  and,  if  rightly  directed,  might  be  of  good  use  to  a  person 
who  has  such  a  thirst  awakened  in  him.  Why  should  not  a  man 
who  takes  delight  in  reading  everything  that  is  new,  apply  himself 
to  history,  travels,  and  other  writings  of  the  same  kind,  where  he 
will  find  perpetual  fuel  for  his  curiosity,  and  meet  with  much  more 
pleasure  and  improvement,  than  in  these  papers  of  the  week?  An 
honest  tradesman,  who  languishes  a  whole  summer  in  expectation 
of  a  battle,  and  perhaps  is  balked  at  last,  may  here  meet  with  half 
a  dozen  in  a  day.  He  may  read  the  news  of  a  whole  campaign  in 
less  time  than  he  now  bestows  upon  the  products  of  any  single  post. 
Fights,  conquests,  and  revolutions  lie  thick  together.  The  reader's 
curiosity  is  raised  and  satisfied  every  moment,  and  his  passions  dis- 
appointed or  gratified,  without  being  detained  in  a  state  of  uncer- 
tainty from  day  to  day,  or  lying  at  the  mercy  of  sea  and  wind.  In 
short,  the  mind  is  not  here  kept  in  a  perpetual  gape  after  knowledge, 
nor  punished  with  that  eternal  thirst  which  is  the  portion  of  all 
OUT  modern  newsmongers  and  coffee-house  politicians. 

All  matters  cf  fact,  which  a  man  did  not  know  before,  are  news 
to  him;  and  I  do  not  see  how  any  haberdasher  in  Cheapside  is  more 

'85 


THE   SPECTATOR 

concerned  in  the  present  quarrel  of  the  Cantons,  than  he  was  in 
that  of  the  League.  At  least,  I  believe  every  one  will  allow  me, 
it  is  of  more  importance  to  an  Englishman  to  know  the  history  of 
his  ancestors,  than  that  of  his  contemporaries  who  live  upon  the 
banks  of  the  Danube  or  the  Borysthenes.  As  for  those  who  are 
of  another  mind,  I  shall  recommend  to  them  the  following  letter, 
from  a  projector,  who  is  willing  to  turn  a  penny  by  this  remarkable 
curiosity  of  his  countrymen. 

"MR.  SPECTATOR,  —  You  must  have  observed,  that  men  who 
frequent  coffee-houses,  and  delight  in  news,  are  pleased  with  every- 
thing that  is  matter  of  fact,  so  it  be  what  they  have  not  heard  before. 
A  victory,  or  a  defeat,  are  equally  agreeable  to  them.  The  shut- 
ting of  a  cardinal's  mouth  pleases  them  one  post,  and  the  opening 
of  it  another.  They  are  glad  to  hear  the  French  court  is  removed 
to  Marli,  and  are  afterwards  as  much  delighted  with  its  return  to 
Versailles.  They  read  the  advertisements  with  the  same  curiosity 
as  the  articles  of  public  news ;  and  are  as  pleased  to  hear  of  a  piebald 
horse  that  is  strayed  out  of  a  field  near  Islington,  as  of  a  whole 
troop  that  has  been  engaged  in  any  foreign  adventure.  In  short, 
they  have  a  relish  for  everything  that  is  news,  let  the  matter  of  it  be 
what  it  will ;  or  to  speak  more  properly,  they  are  men  of  a  voracious 
appetite,  but  no  taste.  Now,  sir,  since  the  great  fountain  of  news, 
I  mean  the  war,  is  very  near  being  dried  up;  and  since  these  gentle- 
men have  contracted  such  an  inextinguishable  thirst  after  it ;  I  have 
taken  their  case  and  my  own  into  consideration,  and  have  thought 
of  a  project  which  may  turn  to  the  advantage  of  us  both.  I  have 
thoughts  of  publishing  a  daily  paper,  which  shall  comprehend  in 
it  all  the  most  remarkable  occurrences  in  every  little  town,  village, 
and  hamlet,  that  lie  within  ten  miles  of  London,  or  in  other  words, 
within  the  verge  of  the  penny-post.  I  have  pitched  upon  this  scene 
of  intelligence  for  two  reasons;  first,  because  the  carriage  of  letters 
will  be  very  cheap;  and  secondly,  because  I  may  receive  them  every 
day.  By  this  means  my  readers  will  have  their  news  fresh  and 
fresh,  and  many  worthy  citizens,  who  cannot  sleep  with  any  satis- 
faction at  present,  for  want  of  being  informed  how  the  world  goes, 
may  go  to  bed  contentedly,  it  being  my  design  to  put  out  my  paper 
every  night  at  nine-a-clock  precisely.  I  have  already  established 
correspondences  in  these  several  places,  and  received  very  good 
intelligence. 

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THE   SPECTATOR 

"By  my  last  advices  from  Knightsbridge  I  hear  that  a  horse  was 
clapped  into  the  pound  on  the  third  instant,  and  that  he  was  not 
released  when  the  letters  came  away. 

"We  are  informed  from  Pankridge,  that  a  dozen  weddings  were 
lately  celebrated  in  the  mother-church  of  that  place,  but  are  referred 
to  then"  next  letters  for  the  names  of  the  parties  concerned. 

"Letters  from  Brompton  advise,  that  the  widow  Blight  had 
received  several  visits  from  John  Mildew,  which  affords  great 
matter  of  speculation  in  those  parts. 

"  By  a  fisherman  which  lately  touched  at  Hammersmith,  there  is 
advice  from  Putney,  that  a  certain  person  well  known  in  that  place, 
is  like  to  lose  his  election  for  church-warden;  but  this  being  boat- 
news,  we  cannot  give  entire  credit  to  it. 

"Letters  from  Paddington  bring  little  more  than  that  William 
Squeak,  the  sow-gelder,  passed  through  that  place  the  fifth  instant. 

"They  advise  from  Fulham,  that  things  remained  there  in  the 
same  state  they  were.  They  had  intelligence,  just  as  the  letters 
came  away,  of  a  tub  of  excellent  ale  just  set  a-broach  at  Parsons 
Green;  but  this  wanted  confirmation. 

"  I  have  here,  sir,  given  you  a  specimen  of  the  news  with  which  I 
intend  to  entertain  the  town,  and  which  when  drawn  up  regularly 
in  the  form  of  a  newspaper,  will,  I  doubt  not,  be  very  acceptable  to 
many  of  those  public-spirited  readers,  who  take  more  delight  in 
acquainting  themselves  with  other  people's  business  than  their 
own.  I  hope  a  paper  of  this  kind,  which  lets  us  know  what  is  done 
near  home,  may  be  more  useful  to  us  than  those  which  are  filled 
with  advices  from  Zug  and  Bender,  and  make  some  amends  for  that 
dearth  of  intelligence,  which  we  may  justly  apprehend  from  times 
of  peace.  If  I  find  that  you  receive  this  project  favourably,  I  will 
shortly  trouble  you  with  one  or  two  more ;  and  in  the  mean  time  am, 
most  worthy  sir,  with  all  due  respect, 

"Your  most  obedient  and  most  humble  servant." 


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THE    SPECTATOR 


ON   TRUE   AND    FALSE    MODESTY 

No.  458.]    FRIDAY,  AUGUST  15,  1712.    [ADDISON.] 

AWwf  oik  dyaOi). —  HES. 
Pudor  malus. —  HOR. 

I  COULD  not  but  smile  at  the  account  that  was  yesterday  given 
me  of  a  modest  young  gentleman,  who  being  invited  to  an 
entertainment,  though  he  was  not  used  to  drink,  had  not  the  confi- 
dence to  refuse  his  glass  in  his  turn,  when  on  a  sudden  he  grew  so 
flustered  that  he  took  all  the  talk  of  the  table  into  his  own  hands, 
abused  every  one  of  the  company,  and  flung  a  bottle  at  the  gentle- 
man's head  who  treated  him.  This  has  given  me  occasion  to 
reflect  upon  the  ill  effects  of  a  vicious  modesty,  and  to  remember 
the  saying  of  Brutus,  as  it  is  quoted  by  Plutarch,  that  "  the  person 
has  had  but  an  ill  education,  who  has  not  been  taught  to  deny 
anything."  This  false  kind  of  modesty  has,  perhaps,  betrayed 
both  sexes  into  as  many  vices  as  the  most  abandoned  impudence,  and 
is  the  more  inexcusable  to  reason,  because  it  acts  to  gratify  others 
rather  than  itself,  and  is  punished  with  a  kind  of  remorse,  not  only 
like  other  vicious  habits  when  the  crime  is  over,  but  even  at  the 
very  time  that  it  is  committed. 

Nothing  is  more  amiable  than  true  modesty,  and  nothing  is  more 
contemptible  than  the  false.  The  one  guards  virtue,  the  other 
betrays  it.  True  modesty  is  ashamed  to  do  anything  that  is  repug- 
nant to  the  rules  of  right  reason:  false  modesty  is  ashamed  to  do 
anything  that  is  opposite  to  the  humour  of  the  company.  True 
modesty  avoids  everything  that  is  criminal,  false  modesty  everything 
that  is  unfashionable.  The  latter  is  only  a  general  undetermined 
instinct;  the  former  is  that  instinct  limited  and  circumscribed  by 
the  rules  of  prudence  and  religion. 

We  may  conclude  that  modesty  to  be  false  and  vicious,  which 
engages  a  man  to  do  anything  that  is  ill  or  indiscreet,  or  which 
restrains  him  from  doing  any  that  is  of  a  contrary  nature.  How 
many  men,  in  the  common  concerns  of  life,  lend  sums  of  money 
which  they  are  not  able  to  spare,  are  bound  for  persons  whom  they 
have  but  little  friendship  for,  give  recommendatory  characters  of 

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THE    SPECTATOR 

men  whom  they  are  not  acquainted  with,  bestow  places  on  those 
whom  they  do  not  esteem,  live  in  such  a  manner  as  they  themselves 
do  not  approve,  and  all  this  merely  because  they  have  not  the 
confidence  to  resist  solicitation,  importunity,  or  example. 

Nor  does  this  false  modesty  expose  us  only  to  such  actions  as  are 
indiscreet,  but  very  often  to  such  as  are  highly  criminal.  When 
Xenophanes  was  called  timorous,  because  he  would  not  venture  his 
money  in  a  game  at  dice:  "  I  confess,  (said  he,)  that  I  am  exceeding 
timorous,  for  I  dare  not  do  an  ill  thing."  On  the  contrary,  a  man 
of  vicious  modesty  complies  with  everything,  and  is  only  fearful  of 
doing  what  may  look  singular  in  the  company  where  he  is  engaged. 
He  falls  in  with  the  torrent,  and  lets  himself  go  to  every  action  or 
discourse,  however  unjustifiable  in  itself,  so  it  be  in  vogue  among 
the  present  party.  This,  though  one  of  the  most  common,  is  one 
of  the  most  ridiculous  dispositions  in  human  nature,  that  men  should 
not  be  ashamed  of  speaking  or  acting  in  a  dissolute  or  irrational 
manner,  but  that  one  who  is  in  their  company  should  be  ashamed 
of  governing  himself  by  the  principles  of  reason  and  virtue. 

In  the  second  place,  we  are  to  consider  false  modesty  as  it  restrains 
a  man  from  doing  what  is  good  and  laudable.  My  reader's  own 
thoughts  will  suggest  to  him  many  instances  and  examples  under 
this  head.  I  shall  only  dwell  upon  one  reflection,  which  I  cannot 
make  without  a  secret  concern.  We  have  in  England  a  particular 
bashfulness  in  everything  that  regards  religion.  A  well-bred  man 
is  obliged  to  conceal  any  serious  sentiment  of  this  nature,  and  very 
often  to  appear  a  greater  libertine  than  he  is,  that  he  may  keep  him- 
self in  countenance  among  the  men  of  mode.  Our  excess  of  modesty 
makes  us  shame-faced  in  all  the  exercises  of  piety  and  devotion.  This 
humour  prevails  upon  us  daily;  insomuch,  that  at  many  well-bred 
tables,  the  master  of  the  house  is  so  very  modest  a  man,  that  he  has 
not  the  confidence  to  say  grace  at  his  own  table :  a  custom  which  is 
not  only  practised  by  all  the  nations  about  us,  but  was  never  omitted 
by  the  heathens  themselves.  English  gentlemen  who  travel  into 
Roman  Catholic  countries,  are  not  a  little  surprised  to  meet  with 
people  of  the  best  quality  kneeling  in  their  churches,  and  engaged 
in  their  private  devotions,  though  it  be  not  at  the  hours  of  public 
worship.  An  officer  of  the  army,  or  a  man  of  wit  and  pleasure,  in 
those  countries,  would  be  afraid  of  passing  not  only  for  an  irrelig- 
ious, but  an  ill-bred  man,  should  he  be  seen  to  go  to  bed,  or  sit 
down  at  table,  without  offering  up  his  devotions  on  such  occasions. 


THE    SPECTATOR 

The  same  show  of  religion  appears  in  all  the  foreign  reformed 
churches,  and  enters  so  much  into  their  ordinary  conversation, 
that  an  Englishman  is  apt  to  term  them  hypocritical  and  precise. 

This  little  appearance  of  a  religious  deportment  in  our  nation, 
may  proceed  in  some  measure  from  that  modesty  which  is  natural 
to  us,  but  the  great  occasion  of  it  is  certainly  this.  Those  swarms 
of  sectaries  that  over-ran  the  nation  in  the  time  of  the  great  rebel- 
lion, carried  their  hypocrisy  so  high,  that  they  had  converted  our 
whole  language  into  a  jargon  of  enthusiasm;  insomuch,  that  upon 
the  restoration  men  thought  they  could  not  recede  too  far  from  the 
behaviour  and  practice  of  those  persons,  who  had  made  religion  a 
cloak  to  so  many  villanies.  This  led  them  into  the  other  extreme, 
every  appearance  of  devotion  was  looked  upon  as  puritanical;  and 
falling  into  the  hands  of  the  ridiculers  who  flourished  in  that  reign, 
and  attacked  everything  that  was  serious,  it  has  ever  since  been  out 
of  countenance  among  us.  By  this  means  we  are  gradually  fallen 
into  that  vicious  modesty  which  has  in  some  measure  worn  out 
from  among  us  the  appearance  of  Christianity  in  ordinary  life  and 
conversation,  and  which  distinguishes  us  from  all  our  neighbours. 

Hypocrisy  cannot  indeed  be  too  much  detested,  but  at  the  same 
time  is  to  be  preferred  to  open  impiety.  They  are  both  equally 
destructive  to  the  person  who  is  possessed  with  them  but  in  regard 
to  others,  hypocrisy  is  not  so  pernicious  as  bare-faced  irreligion. 
The  due  mean  to  be  observed  is  to  be  sincerely  virtuous,  and  at  the 
same  time  to  let  the  world  see  we  are  so.  I  do  not  know  a  more 
dreadful  menace  in  the  holy  writings,  than  that  which  is  pronounced 
against  those  who  have  this  perverted  modesty,  to  be  ashamed 
before  men  in  a  particular  of  such  unspeakable  importance. 


290 


THE    SPECTATOR 

MARRIAGE   OF   WILL   HONEYCOMB 

No.  530.]    FRIDAY,  NOVEMBER  7,  1712.    [ADDISON.] 

Sic  visum  Veneri;  cui  placet  impares 
Formas  atque  animos  sub  juga  ahenea 
Saevo  mittere  cum  joco. 

HOR.  i  Od.  xxxiii.  10. 

Thus  Venus  sports:  the  rich,  the  base, 
Unlike  in  fortune  and  in  face, 
To  disagreeing  love  provokes; 

When  cruelly  jocose, 

She  ties  the  fatal  noose, 
And  binds  the  unequals  to  the  brazen  yokes. 

IT  is  very  usual  for  those  who  have  been  severe  upon  marriage, 
in  some  part  or  other  of  their  lives,  to  enter  into  the  fraternity 
which  they  have  ridiculed,  and  to  see  their  raillery  return  upon 
their  own  heads.  I  scarce  ever  knew  a  woman-hater  that  did  not, 
sooner  or  later,  pay  for  it.  Marriage,  which  is  a  blessing  to  another 
man,  falls  upon  such  a  one  as  a  judgment.  Mr.  Congreve's  Old 
Bachelor  is  set  forth  to  us  with  much  wit  and  humour  as  an  example 
of  this  kind.  In  short,  those  who  have  most  distinguished  them- 
selves by  railing  at  the  sex  in  general,  very  often  make  an  honourable 
amends,  by  choosing  one  of  the  most  worthless  persons  of  it  for  a 
companion  and  yoke-fellow.  Hymen  takes  his  revenge  in  kind 
on  those  who  turn  his  mysteries  into  ridicule. 

My  friend  Will  Honeycomb,  who  was  so  unmercifully  witty 
upon  the  women  in  a  couple  of  letters  which  I  lately  communi- 
cated to  the  public,  has  given  the  ladies  ample  satisfaction  by 
marrying  a  farmer's  daughter;  a  piece  of  news  which  came  to  our 
club  by  the  last  post.  The  Templar  is  very  positive  that  he  has 
married  a  dairy-maid :  but  Will,  in  his  letter  to  me  on  this  occasion, 
sets  the  best  face  upon  the  matter  that  he  can,  and  gives  a  more 
tolerable  account  of  his  spouse.  I  must  confess  I  suspected  some- 
thing more  than  ordinary,  when  upon  opening  the  letter  I  found 
that  Will  was  fallen  off  from  his  former  gaiety,  having  changed 
"  Dear  Spec,"  which  was  his  usual  salute  at  the  beginning  of  the 
letter,  into  "My  worthy  Friend,"  and  described  himself  in  the  latter 
end  at  full  length  William  Honeycomb.  In  short,  the  gay,  the 

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THE   SPECTATOR 

loud,  the  vain  Will  Honeycomb,  who  had  made  love  to  every  great 
fortune  that  has  appeared  in  town  for  above  thirty  years  together, 
and  boasted  of  favours  from  ladies  whom  he  had  never  seen,  is  at 
length  wedded  to  a  plain  country  girl. 

His  letter  gives  us  the  picture  of  a  converted  rake.  The  sober 
character  of  the  husband  is  dashed  with  the  man  of  the  town,  and 
enlivened  with  those  little  cant-phrases  which  have  made  my  friend 
Will  often  thought  very  pretty  company.  But  let  us  hear  what 
he  says  for  himself. 

"  MY  WORTHY  FRIEND,  —  I  question  not  but  you,  and  the  rest 
of  my  acquaintance,  wonder  that  I,  who  have  lived  in  the  smoke 
and  gallantries  of  the  town  for  thirty  years  together,  should  all  on 
a  sudden  grow  fond  of  a  country  life.  Had  not  my  dog  of  a  steward 
run  away  as  he  did  without  making  up  his  accounts,  I  had  still 
been  immersed  in  sin  and  sea -coal.  But  since  my  late  forced  visit 
to  my  estate,  I  am  so  pleased  with  it,  that  I  am  resolved  to  live  and 
die  upon  it.  I  am  every  day  abroad  among  my  acres,  and  can 
scarce  forbear  filling  my  letter  with  breezes,  shades,  flowers, 
meadows,  and  purling  streams.  The  simplicity  of  manners,  which 
I  have  heard  you  so  often  speak  of,  and  which  appears  here  hi  per- 
fection, charms  me  wonderfully.  As  an  instance  of  it  I  must 
acquaint  you,  and  by  your  means  the  whole  club,  that  I  have  lately 
married  one  of  my  tenant's  daughters.  She  is  born  of  honest 
parents,  and  though  she  has  no  portion,  she  has  a  great  deal  of 
virtue.  The  natural  sweetness  and  innocence  of  her  behaviour, 
the  freshness  of  her  complexion,  the  unaffected  turn  of  her  shape 
and  person,  shot  me  through  and  through  every  time  I  saw  her, 
and  did  more  execution  upon  me  in  grogram  than  the  greatest 
beauty  in  town  or  court  had  ever  done  in  brocade.  In  short,  she 
is  such  a  one  as  promises  me  a  good  heir  to  my  estate ;  and  if  by  her 
means  I  cannot  leave  to  my  children  what  are  falsely  called  the 
gifts  of  birth,  high  titles,  and  alliances,  I  hope  to  convey  to  them 
the  more  real  and  valuable  gifts  of  birth,  strong  bodies,  and  healthy 
constitutions.  As  for  your  fine  women,  I  need  not  tell  thee  that 
I  know  them.  I  have  had  my  share  in  their  graces;  but  no  more 
of  that.  It  shall  be  my  business  hereafter  to  live  the  life  of  an  honest 
man,  and  to  act  as  becomes  the  master  of  a  family.  I  question  not 
but  I  shall  draw  upon  me  the  raillery  of  the  town,  and  be  treated 
to  the  tune  of  'The  Marriage-hater  Matched';  but  I  am  prepared 

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THE    SPECTATOR 

for  it.  I  have  been  as  witty  upon  others  in  my  time.  To  tell  thee 
truly,  I  saw  such  a  tribe  of  fashionable  young  fluttering  coxcombs 
shot  up  that  I  did  not  think  my  post  of  an  homme  de  ruelle  any 
longer  tenable.  I  felt  a  certain  stiffness  in  my  limbs  which  entirely 
destroyed  the  jauntiness  of  air  I  was  once  master  of.  Besides, 
for  I  may  now  confess  my  age  to  thee,  I  have  been  eight-and-forty 
above  these  twelve  years.  Since  my  retirement  into  the  country 
will  make  a  vacancy  in  the  club,  I  could  wish  that  you  would  fill 
up  my  place  with  my  friend  Tom  Dapperwit.  He  has  an  infinite 
deal  of  fire,  and  knows  the  town.  For  my  own  part,  as  I  have  said 
before,  I  shall  endeavour  to  live  hereafter  suitable  to  a  man  hi  my 
station,  as  a  prudent  head  of  a  family,  a  good  husband,  a  careful 
father  (when  it  shall  so  happen),  and  as 

"Your  most  sincere  friend,  and  humble  servant, 
"WILLIAM  HONEYCOMB." 

O. 


ON   RETIREMENT 

No.    549.]    TUESDAY,  NOVEMBER    29,  1712.    [ADDISON.J 

Quamvis  digressu  veteris  confusus  amici. 

Laudo  tamen.  Juv.  Sat.  iii.  I. 

Tho'  griev'd  at  the  departure  of  my  friend, 
His  purpose  of  retiring  I  commend. 

1  BELIEVE  most  people  begin  the  world  with  a  resolution  to 
withdraw  from  it  into  a  serious  kind  of  solitude  or  retirement 
when  they  have  made  themselves  easy  in  it.  Our  happiness  is, 
that  we  find  out  some  excuse  or  other  for  deferring  such  our  good 
resolutions  until  our  intended  retreat  is  cut  off  by  death.  But 
among  all  kinds  of  people  there  are  none  who  are  so  hard  to  part 
with  the  world  as  those  who  are  grown  old  in  the  heaping  up  of 
riches.  Their  minds  are  so  warped  with  their  constant  attention 
to  gain,  that  it  is  very  difficult  for  them  to  give  their  souls  another 
bent,  and  convert  them  towards  those  objects,  which,  though  they 
are  proper  for  every  stage  of  life,  are  so  more  especially  for  the  last. 

293 


THE   SPECTATOR 

Horace  describes  an  old  usurer  as  so  charmed  with  the  pleasures  of 
a  country  life ,  that  in  order  to  make  a  purchase  he  called  in  all  his 
money;  but  what  was  the  event  of  it?  Why  hi  a  very  few  days 
after  he  put  it  out  again.  I  am  engaged  in  this  series  of  thought 
by  a  discourse  which  I  had  last  week  with  my  worthy  friend  Sir 
Andrew  Freeport,  a  man  of  so  much  natural  eloquence,  good  sense, 
and  probity  of  mind,  that  I  always  hear  him  with  a  particular 
pleasure.  As  we  were  sitting  together,  being  the  sole  remaining 
members  of  our  club,  Sir  Andrew  gave  me  an  account  of  the  many 
busy  scenes  of  life  in  which  he  had  been  engaged,  and  at  the  same 
time  reckoned  up  to  me  abundance  of  those  lucky  hits,  which  at 
another  time  he  would  have  called  pieces  of  good  fortune;  but  in 
the  temper  of  mind  he  was  then  he  termed  them  mercies,  favours 
of  Providence,  and  blessings  upon  an  honest  industry.  "Now," 
says  he,  "you  must  know,  my  good  friend,  I  am  so  used  to  consider 
myself  as  creditor  and  debtor,  that  I  often  state  my  accounts  after 
the  same  manner  with  regard  to  heaven  and  my  own  soul.  In  this 
case,  when  I  look  upon  the  debtor  side,  I  find  such  innumerable 
articles,  that  I  want  arithmetic  to  cast  them  up;  but  when  I  look 
upon  the  creditor  side,  I  find  little  more  than  blank  paper.  Now, 
though  I  am  very  well  satisfied  that  it  is  not  in  my  power  to  balance 
accounts  with  my  Maker,  I  am  resolved  however  to  turn  all  my 
future  endeavours  that  way.  You  must  not  therefore  be  surprised, 
my  friend,  if  you  hear  that  I  am  betaking  myself  to  a  more  thought- 
ful kind  of  life,  and  if  I  meet  you  no  more  in  this  place." 

I  could  not  but  approve  so  good  a  resolution,  notwithstanding 
the  loss  I  shall  suffer  by  it.  Sir  Andrew  has  since  explained  him- 
self to  me  more  at  large  in  the  following  letter,  which  is  just  come 
to  my  hands :  — 

"  GOOD  MR.  SPECTATOR,  —  Notwithstanding  my  friends  at 
the  club  have  always  rallied  me  when  I  have  talked  of  retiring 
from  business,  and  repeated  to  me  one  of  my  own  sayings, 
that  'a  merchant  has  never  enough  until  he  has  got  a  little 
more';  I  can  now  inform  you,  that  there  is  one  hi  the  world 
who  thinks  he  has  enough,  and  is  determined  to  pass  the 
remainder  of  his  life  in  the  enjoyment  of  what  he  has.  You 
know,  me  so  well,  that  I  need  not  tell  you,  I  mean,  by  the  enjoy- 
ment of  my  possessions,  the  making  of  them  useful  to  the  public. 
As  the  greatest  part  of  my  estate  has  been  hitherto  of  an  un- 

294 


THE   SPECTATOR 

steady  and  volatile  nature,  either  tost  upon  seas  or  fluctuating  in 
funds,  it  is  now  fixed  and  settled  in  substantial  acres  and  tenements. 
I  have  removed  it  from  the  uncertainty  of  stocks,  winds,  and  waves, 
and  disposed  of  it  in  a  considerable  purchase.  This  will  give  me 
great  opportunity  of  being  charitable  in  my  way,  that  is,  in  setting 
my  poor  neighbours  to  work,  and  giving  them  a  comfortable  sub- 
sistence out  of  their  own  industry.  My  gardens,  my  fish-ponds, 
my  arable  and  pasture  grounds,  shall  be  my  several  hospitals,  or 
rather  work-houses,  in  which  I  propose  to  maintain  a  great  many 
indigent  persons,  who  are  now  starving  in  my  neighbourhood.  I 
have  got  a  fine  spread  of  improveable  lands,  and  in  my  own 
thoughts  am  already  ploughing  up  some  of  them,  fencing  others, 
planting  woods,  and  draining  marshes.  In  fine,  as  I  have  my  share 
in  the  surface  of  this  island,  I  am  resolved  to  make  it  as  beautiful 
a  spot  as  any  in  her  Majesty's  dominions;  at  least  there  is  not  an 
inch  of  it  which  shall  not  be  cultivated  to  the  best  advantage,  and 
do  its  utmost  for  its  owner.  As  in  my  mercantile  employment  I 
so  disposed  of  my  affairs,  that,  from  whatever  corner  of  the  com- 
pass the  wind  blew,  it  was  bringing  home  one  or  other  of  my  ships, 
I  hope  as  a  husbandman  to  contrive  it  so,  that  not  a  shower  of  rain, 
or  a  glimpse  of  sunshine,  shall  fall  upon  my  estate  without  bettering 
some  part  of  it,  and  contributing  to  the  products  of  the  season. 
You  know  it  has  been  hitherto  my  opinion  of  life,  that  it  is  thrown 
away  when  it  is  not  some  way  useful  to  others.  But  when  I  am 
riding  out  by  myself,  in  the  fresh  air  on  the  open  heath  that  lies  by 
my  house,  I  find  several  other  thoughts  growing  up  in  me.  I  am 
now  of  opinion,  that  a  man  of  my  age  may  find  business  enough  on 
himself,  by  setting  his  mind  in  order,  preparing  it  for  another 
world,  and  reconciling  it  to  the  thoughts  of  death.  I  must  there- 
fore acquaint  you,  that  besides  those  usual  methods  of  charity,  of 
which  I  have  before  spoken,  I  am  at  this  very  instant  finding  out  a 
convenient  place  where  I  may  build  an  alms-house,  which  I  intend 
to  endow  very  handsomely  for  a  dozen  superannuated  husband- 
men. It  will  be  a  great  pleasure  to  me  to  say  my  prayers  twice  a 
day  with  men  of  my  own  years,  who  all  of  them,  as  well  as  myself, 
may  have  their  thoughts  taken  up  how  they  shall  die,  rather  than 
how  they  shall  live.  I  remember  an  excellent  saying  that  I  learned 
at  school,  finis  coronal  opus.  You  know  best  whether  it  be  in 
Virgil  or  in  Horace ;  it  is  my  business  to  apply  it.  If  your  affairs 
will  permit  you  to  take  the  country  air  with  me  sometimes,  you 

295 


THE   SPECTATOR 

shall  find  an  apartment  fitted  up  for  you,  and  shall  be  every  day 
entertained  with  beef  or  mutton  of  my  own  feeding,  fish  out  of  my 
own  ponds,  and  fruit  out  of  my  own  gardens.  You  shall  have  free 
egress  and  regress  about  my  house,  without  having  any  questions 
asked  you;  and,  in  a  word,  such  a  hearty  welcome  as  you  may 
expect  from 

"Your  most  sincere  friend  and  humble  servant, 

"ANDREW  FREEPORT." 


396 


STERNE   AND   GOLDSMITH 


STERNE    AND    GOLDSMITH 

FROM  THACKERAY'S   "ENGLISH   HUMORISTS" 


ROGER  STERNE,  Sterne's  father,  was  the  second  son  of  a 
numerous  race,  descendants  of  Richard  Sterne,  Archbishop 
of  York,  in  the  reign  of  James  II. ;  and  children  of  Simon  Sterne 
and  Mary  Jaques,  his  wife,  heiress  of  Elvington,  near  York.  Roger 
was  a  lieutenant  in  Handyside's  regiment,  and  engaged  in  Flanders 
in  Queen  Anne's  wars.  He  married  the  daughter  of  a  noted  sutler 
—  "N.  B.,  he  was  in  debt  to  him,"  his  son  writes,  pursuing  the  pa- 
ternal biography  —  and  marched  through  the  world  with  this  com- 
panion; she  following  the  regiment  and  bringing  many  children  to 
poor  Roger  Sterne.  The  captain  was  an  irascible  but  land  and 
simple  little  man,  Sterne  says,  and  informs  us  that  his  sire  was  run 
through  the  body  at  Gibraltar,  by  a  brother  officer,  in  a  duel  which 
arose  out  of  a  dispute  about  a  goose.  Roger  never  entirely  recovered 
from  the  effects  of  this  rencontre,  but  died  presently  at  Jamaica, 
whither  he  had  followed  the  drum. 

Laurence,  his  second  child,  was  born  at  Clonmel,  in  Ireland,  in 
1713,  and  travelled,  for  the  first  ten  years  of  his  life,  on  his  father's 
march,  from  barrack  to  transport,  from  Ireland  to  England. 

One  relative  of  his  mother's  took  her  and  her  family  under  shelter 
for  ten  months  at  Mullingar:  another  collateral  descendant  of  the 
Archbishop's  housed  them  for  a  year  at  his  castle  near  Carrickfer- 
gus.  Larry  Sterne  was  put  to  school  at  Halifax  in  England,  finally 
was  adopted  by  his  kinsman  at  Elvington,  and  parted  company  with 
his  father,  the  Captain,  who  marched  on  his  path  of  life  till  he  met 
the  fatal  goose,  which  closed  his  career.  The  most  picturesque  and 
delightful  parts  of  Laurence  Sterne's  writings,  we  owe  to  his  recol- 
lections of  the  military  life.  Trim's  montero  cap,  and  Le  Fevre's 
sword,  and  dear  Uncle  Toby's  roquelaure,  are  doubtless  reminis- 
cences of  the  boy,  who  had  lived  with  the  followers  of  William  and 
Marlborough,  and  had  beat  time  with  his  little  feet  to  the  fifes  of 

299 


STERNE   AND    GOLDSMITH 

Ramillies  in  Dublin  barrack-yard,  or  played  with  the  torn  flags  and 
halberds  of  Malplaquet  on  the  parade-ground  at  Clonmel. 

Laurence  remained  at  Halifax  school  till  he  was  eighteen  years 
old.  His  wit  and  cleverness  appear  to  have  acquired  the  respect  of 
his  master  here;  for  when  the  usher  whipped  Laurence  for  writing 
his  name  on  the  newly  whitewashed  schoolroom  ceiling,  the  peda- 
gogue in  chief  rebuked  the  understrapper,  and  said  that  the  name 
should  never  be  effaced,  for  Sterne  was  a  boy  of  genius,  and  would 
come  to  preferment. 

His  cousin,  the  Squire  of  Elvington,  sent  Sterne  to  Jesus  College, 
Cambridge,  where  he  remained  five  years,  and  taking  orders,  got, 
through  his  uncle's  interest,  the  living  of  Sutton  and  the  prebendary 
of  York.  Through  his  wife's  connections,  he  got  the  living  of  Still- 
ington.  He  married  her  in  1741;  having  ardently  courted  the 
young  lady  for  some  years  previously.  It  was  not  until  the  young 
lady  fancied  herself  dying,  that  she  made  Sterne  acquainted  with 
the  extent  of  her  liking  for  him.  One  evening  when  he  was  sitting 
with  her,  with  an  almost  broken  heart  to  see  her  so  ill  (the  Rev.  Mr. 
Sterne's  heart  was  a  good  deal  broken  in  the  course  of  his  life),  she 
said  —  "  My  dear  Laurey,  I  never  can  be  yours,  for  I  verily  believe 
I  have  not  long  to  live;  but  I  have  left  you  every  shilling  of  my  for- 
tune:" a  generosity  which  overpowered  Sterne.  She  recovered: 
and  so  they  were  married,  and  grew  heartily  tired  of  each  other  be- 
fore many  years  were  over.  "Nescio  quid  est  materia  cum  me," 
Sterne  writes  to  one  of  his  friends  (in  dog-Latin,  and  very  sad  dog- 
Latin  too) ;  "  sed  sum  fatigatus  et  aegrotus  de  mea  uxore  plus  quam 
unquam:"  which  means,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  "I  don't  know  what  is 
the  matter  with  me:  but  I  am  more  tired  and  sick  of  my  wife  than 
ever." 

This  to  be  sure  was  five-and-twenty  years  after  Laurey  had 
been  overcome  by  her  generosity  and  she  by  Laurey 's  love.  Then 
he  wrote  to  her  of  the  delights  of  marriage,  saying,  "We  will  be 
merry  and  as  innocent  as  our  first  parents  in  Paradise,  before  the 
arch-fiend  entered  that  indescribable  scene.  The  kindest  affections 
will  have  room  to  expand  in  our  retirement :  let  the  human  tempest 
and  hurricane  rage  at  a  distance,  the  desolation  is  beyond  the  horizon 
of  peace.  My  L.  has  seen  a  polyanthus  blow  in  December?  — 
Some  friendly  wall  has  sheltered  it  from  the  biting  wind.  No 
planetary  influence  shall  reach  us,  but  that  which  presides  and 
cherishes  the  sweetest  flowers.  The  gloomy  family  of  care  and 

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STERNE   AND    GOLDSMITH 

distrust  shall  be  banished  from  our  dwelling,  guarded  by  thy  kind 
and  tutelar  deity.  We  will  sing  our  choral  songs  of  gratitude  and 
rejoice  to  the  end  of  our  pilgrimage.  Adieu,  my  L.  Return  to 
one  who  languishes  for  thy  society!  —  As  I  take  up  my  pen,  my  poor 
pulse  quickens,  my  pale  face  glows,  and  tears  are  trickling  down  on 
my  paper  as  I  trace  the  word  L." 

And  it  is  about  this  woman,  with  whom  he  finds  no  fault  but  that 
she  bores  him,  that  our  philanthropist  writes,  "Sum  fatigatus  et 
aegrotus"  —  Sum  mortaliter  in  amore  with  somebody  else!  That 
fine  flower  of  love,  that  polyanthus  over  which  Sterne  snivelled  so 
many  tears,  could  not  last  for  a  quarter  of  a  century! 

Or  rather  it  could  not  be  expected  that  a  gentleman  with  such  a 
fountain  at  command  should  keep  it  to  arroser  one  homely  old  lady, 
when  a  score  of  younger  and  prettier  people  might  be  refreshed  from 
the  same  gushing  source.  It  was  in  December,  1767,  that  the  Rev. 
Laurence  Sterne,  the  famous  Shandean,  the  charming  Yorick,  the 
delight  of  the  fashionable  world,  the  delicious  divine,  for  whose 
sermons  the  whole  polite  world  was  subscribing,  the  occupier  of 
Rabelais's  easy  chair,  only  fresh  stuffed  and  more  elegant  than  when 
in  possession  of  the  cynical  old  curate  of  Meudon,  —  the  more  than 
rival  of  the  Dean  of  St.  Patrick's,  wrote  the  above-quoted  respect- 
able letter  to  his  friend  in  London :  and  it  was  in  April  of  the  same 
year  that  he  was  pouring  out  his  fond  heart  to  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Draper, 
wife  of  "Daniel  Draper,  Esq.,  Councillor  of  Bombay,  and,  in  1775, 
chief  of  the  factory  of  Surat  —  a  gentleman  very  much  respected  in 
that  quarter  of  the  globe." 

"I  got  thy  letter  last  night,  Eliza,  Sterne  writes,  "on  my  return 
from  Lord  Bathurst's,  where  I  dined  "  —  (the  letter  has  this  merit 
hi  it,  that  it  contains  a  pleasant  reminiscence  of  better  men  than 
Sterne,  and  introduces  us  to  a  portrait  of  a  kind  old  gentleman)  — 
"I  got  thy  letter  last  night,  Eliza,  on  my  return  from  Lord  Bath- 
urst's ;  and  where  I  was  heard  —  as  I  talked  of  thee  an  hour  within 
intermission  —  with  so  much  pleasure  and  attention,  that  the  good 
old  Lord  toasted  your  health  three  different  times ;  and  now  he  is  hi 
his  85th  year,  says  he  hopes  to  live  long  enough  to  be  introduced  as 
a  friend  to  my  fair  Indian  disciple,  and  to  see  her  eclipse  all  other 
Nabobesses  as  much  in  wealth  as  she  does  already  in  exterior  and, 
what  is  far  better"  (for  Sterne  is  nothing  without  his  morality), 
"  in  ulterior  merit.  This  nobleman  is  an  old  friend  of  mine.  You 
know  he  was  always  the  protector  of  men  of  wit  and  genius,  and  has 

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STERNE   AND    GOLDSMITH 

had  those  of  the  last  century,  Addison,  Steele,  Pope,  Swift,  Prior, 
&c.,  always  at  his  table.  The  manner  in  which  his  notice  began  of 
me  was  as  singular  as  it  was  polite.  He  came  up  to  me  one  day  as 
I  was  at  the  Princess  of  Wales's  court,  and  said,  'I  want  to  know 
you,  Mr.  Sterne,  but  it  is  fit  you  also  should  know  who  it  is  that 
wishes  this  pleasure.  You  have  heard  of  an  old  Lord  Bathurst, 
of  whom  your  Popes  and  Swifts  have  sung  and  spoken  so  much? 
I  have  lived  my  life  with  geniuses  of  that  cast;  but  have  survived 
them;  and,  despairing  ever  to  find  their  equals,  it  is  some  years 
since  I  have  shut  up  my  books  and  closed  my  accounts;  but  you 
have  kindled  a  desire  hi  me  of  opening  them  once  more  before  I  die : 
which  I  now  do:  so  go  home  and  dine  with  me.'  This  nobleman, 
I  say,  is  a  prodigy,  for  he  has  all  the  wit  and  promptness  of  a  man 
of  thirty;  a  disposition  to  be  pleased,  and  a  power  to  please  others, 
beyond  whatever  I  knew:  added  to  which  a  man  of  learning, 
courtesy,  and  feeling. 

"  He  heard  me  talk  of  thee,  Eliza,  with  uncommon  satisfaction  — 
for  there  was  only  a  third  person,  and  of  sensibility,  with  us:  and  a 
most  sentimental  afternoon  till  nine  o'clock  have  we  passed!  But 
thou,  Eliza,  wert  the  star  that  conducted  and  enlivened  the  dis- 
course! And  when  I  talked  not  of  thee,  still  didst  thou  fill  my 
mind,  and  warm  every  thought  I  uttered,  for  I  am  not  ashamed  to 
acknowledge  I  greatly  miss  thee.  Best  of  all  good  girls!  —  the 
sufferings  I  have  sustained  all  night  in  consequence  of  thine,  Eliza, 

are  beyond  the  power  of  words And  so  thou  hast  fixed 

thy  Bramin's  portrait  over  thy  writing-desk,  and  will  consult  it  in 
all  doubts  and  difficulties  ?  —  grateful  and  good  girl !  Yorick 
smiles  contentedly  over  all  thou  dost :  his  picture  does  not  do  justice 
to  his  own  complacency.  I  am  glad  your  shipmates  are  friendly 
beings  "  (Eliza  was  at  Deal,  going  back  to  the  Councillor  at  Bombay, 
and  indeed  it  was  high  time  she  should  be  off).  "You  could  least 
dispense  with  what  is  contrary  to  your  own  nature,  which  is  soft  and 
gentle,  Eliza;  it  would  civilize  savages  —  though  pity  were  it  thou 
should'st  be  tainted  with  the  office.  Write  to  me,  my  child,  thy 
delicious  letters.  Let  them  speak  the  easy  carelessness  of  a  heart 
that  opens  itself  anyhow,  everyhow.  Such,  Eliza,  I  write  to  thee !" 
(The  artless  rogue,  of  course  he  did !)  "  And  so  I  should  ever  love 
thee,  most  artlessly,  most  affectionately,  if  Providence  permitted 
thy  residence  in  the  same  section  of  the  globe :  for  I  am  all  that  honor 
and  affection  can  make  me  'THY  BRAMIN.'" 

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STERNE   AND    GOLDSMITH 

The  Bramin  continues  addressing  Mrs.  Draper,  until  the  depar- 
ture of  the  "Earl  of  Chatham"  Indiaman  from  Deal,  on  the  2nd  of 
April,  1767.  He  is  amiably  anxious  about  the  fresh  paint  for 
Eliza's  cabin;  he  is  uncommonly  solicitous  about  her  companions 
on  board:  "I  fear  the  best  of  your  shipmates  are  only  genteel  by 
comparison  with  the  contrasted  crew  with  which  thou  beholdest 
them.  So  was  —  you  know  who  —  from  the  same  fallacy  which 
was  put  upon  your  judgment  when  —  but  I  will  not  mortify  you!" 

"You  know  who"  was,  of  course,  Daniel  Draper,  Esq.,  of 
Bombay  —  a  gentleman  very  much  respected  in  that  quarter  of 
the  globe,  and  about  whose  probable  health  our  worthy  Bramin 
writes  with  delightful  candor:  — 

"I  honor  you,  Eliza,  for  keeping  secret  some  things  which,  if 
explained,  had  been  a  panegyric  on  yourself.  There  is  a  dignity 
in  venerable  affliction  which  will  not  allow  it  to  appeal  to  the  world 
for  pity  or  redress.  Well  have  you  supported  that  character,  my 
amiable,  my  philosophic  friend!  And,  indeed,  I  begin  to  think 
you  have  as  many  virtues  as  my  Uncle  Toby's  widow.  Talking  of 
widows  —  pray,  Eh'za,  if  ever  you  are  such,  do  not  think  of  giving 
yourself  to  some  wealthy  Nabob,  because  I  design  to  marry  you 
myself.  My  wife  cannot  live  long,  and  I  know  not  the  woman  I 
should  like  so  well  for  her  substitute  as  yourself.  'Tis  true  I  am 
ninety-five  in  constitution,  and  you  but  twenty-five;  but  what  I 
want  in  youth,  I  will  make  up  in  wit  and  good-humour.  Not 
Swift  so  loved  his  Stella,  Scarron  his  Maintenon,  or  Waller  his 
Saccharissa.  Tell  me,  in  answer  to  this,  that  you  approve  and 
honor  the  proposal." 

Approve  and  honor  the  proposal !  The  coward  was  writing  gay 
letters  to  his  friends  this  while,  with  sneering  allusions  to  this  poor 
foolish  Bramine.  Her  ship  was  not  out  of  the  Downs,  and  the 
charming  Sterne  was  at  the  "  Mount  Coffee-house,"  with  a  sheet  of 
gilt-edged  paper  before  him,  offering  that  precious  treasure  his 

heart  to  Lady  P ,  asking  whether  it  gave  her  pleasure  to  see 

him  unhappy?  whether  it  added  to  her  triumph  that  her  eyes  and 
lips  had  turned  a  man  into  a  fool?  —  quoting  the  Lord's  Prayer, 
with  a  horrible  baseness  of  blasphemy,  as  a  proof  that  he  had 
desired  not  to  be  led  into  temptation,  and  swearing  himself  the  most 
tender  and  sincere  fool  in  the  world.  It  was  from  his  home  at 
Coxwould  that  he  wrote  the  Latin  letter,  which,  I  suppose,  he  was 
ashamed  to  put  into  English.  I  find  in  my  copy  of  the  Letters, 

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STERNE   AND    GOLDSMITH 

that  there  is  a  note  of  I  can't  call  it  admiration,  at  Letter  112, 
which  seems  to  announce  that  there  was  a  No.  3  to  whom  the 
wretched  worn  out  old  scamp  was  paying  his  addresses;  and  the 
year  after,  having  come  back  to  his  lodgings  in  Bond  Street,  with 
his  "Sentimental  Journey"  to  launch  upon  the  town,  eager  as  ever 
for  praise  and  pleasure  —  as  vain,  as  wicked,  as  witty,  as  false  as 
he  had  ever  been  —  death  at  length  seized  the  feeble  wretch,  and, 
on  the  i8th  of  March,  1768,  that  "bale  of  cadaverous  goods,"  as 
he  calls  his  body,  was  consigned  to  Pluto.  In  his  last  letter  there 
is  one  sign  of  grace  —  the  real  affection  with  which  he  entreats  a 
friend  to  be  a  guardian  to  his  daughter  Lydia.  All  his  letters  to 
her  are  artless,  kind,  affectionate,  and  not  sentimental;  as  a  hundred 
pages  in  his  writings  are  beautiful,  and  full,  not  of  surprising 
humor  merely,  but  of  genuine  love  and  kindness.  A  perilous  trade, 
indeed,  is  that  of  a  man  who  has  to  bring  his  tears  and  laughter, 
his  recollections,  his  personal  griefs  and  joys,  his  private  thoughts 
and  feelings  to  market,  to  write  them  on  paper,  and  sell  them  for 
money.  Does  he  exaggerate  his  grief,  so  as  to  get  his  reader's 
pity  for  a  false  sensibility  ?  feign  indignation,  so  as  to  establish  a 
character  for  virtue?  elaborate  repartees,  so  that  he  may  pass  for 
a  wit  ?  steal  from  other  authors,  and  put  down  the  theft  to  the  credit 
side  of  his  own  reputation  for  ingenuity  and  learning  ?  feign  origi- 
nality? affect  benevolence  or  misanthropy?  appeal  to  the  gallery 
gods  with  claptraps  and  vulgar  baits  to  catch  applause  ? 

How  much  of  the  paint  and  emphasis  is  necessary  for  the  fair 
business  of  the  stage,  and  how  much  of  the  rant  and  rouge  is  put 
on  for  the  vanity  of  the  actor.  His  audience  trusts  him:  can  he 
trust  himself?  How  much  was  deliberate  calculation  and  impos- 
ture —  how  much  was  false  sensibility  —  and  how  much  true  feel- 
ing? Where  did  the  lie  begin,  and  did  he  know  where?  and  where 
did  the  truth  end  in  the  art  and  scheme  of  this  man  of  genius,  this 
actor,  this  quack?  Some  time  since,  I  was  in  the  company  of  a 
French  actor,  who  began  after  dinner,  and  at  his  own  request,  to 
sing  French  songs  of  the  sort  called  des  chansons  grivoises,  and  which 
he  performed  admirably,  and  to  the  dissatisfaction  of  most  persons 
present.  Having  finished  these,  he  commenced  a  sentimental 
ballad  —  it  was  so  charmingly  sung,  that  it  touched  all  persons 
present,  and  especially  the  singer  himself,  whose  voice  trembled, 
whose  eyes  filled  with  emotion,  and  who  was  snivelling  and  weeping 
quite  genuine  tears  by  the  time  his  own  ditty  was  over.  I  suppose 

304 


STERNE   AND    GOLDSMITH 

Sterne  had  this  artistical  sensibility;  he  used  to  blubber  perpetually 
in  his  study,  and  finding  his  tears  infectious,  and  that  they  brought 
him  a  great  popularity,  he  exercised  the  lucrative  gift  of  weeping: 
he  utilized  it,  and  cried  on  every  occasion.  I  own  that  I  don't  value 
or  respect  much  the  cheap  dribble  of  those  fountains.  He  fatigues 
me  with  his  perpetual  disquiet  and  his  uneasy  appeals  to  my  risible 
or  sentimental  faculties.  He  is  always  looking  in  my  face,  watching 
his  effect,  uncertain  whether  I  think  him  an  impostor  or  not; 
posture-making,  coaxing,  and  imploring  me.  "  See  what  sensibility 
I  have  —  own  now  that  I'm  very  clever  —  do  cry  now,  you  can't  resist 
this."  The  humor  of  Swift  and  Rabelais,  whom  he  pretended  to 
succeed,  poured  from  them  as  naturally  as  song  does  from  a  bird; 
they  lose  no  manly  dignity  with  it,  but  laugh  their  hearty  great 
laugh  out  of  their  broad  chests  as  nature  bade  them.  But  this 
man  —  who  can  make  you  laugh,  who  can  make  you  cry  too  — 
never  lets  his  reader  alone,  or  will  permit  his  audience  repose: 
when  you  are  quiet,  he  fancies  he  must  rouse  you,  and  turns  over 
head  and  heels,  or  sidles  up  and  whispers  a  nasty  story.  The  man 
is  a  great  jester,  not  a  great  humorist.  He  goes  to  work  systemati- 
cally and  of  cold  blood ;  paints  his  face,  puts  on  his  ruff  and  motley 
clothes,  and  lays  down  his  carpet  and  tumbles  on  it. 

For  instance,  take  the  "Sentimental  Journey,"  and  see  in  the 
writer  the  deliberate  propensity  to  make  points  and  seek  applause. 
He  gets  to  "  Dessein's  Hotel,"  he  wants  a  carriage  to  travel  to  Paris, 
he  goes  to  the  inn-yard,  and  begins  what  the  actors  call  "business" 
at  once.  There  is  that  little  carriage  (the  desobligeanle).  "Four 
months  had  elapsed  since  it  had  finished  its  career  of  Europe  in  the 
corner  of  Monsieur  Dessein's  coach-yard,  and  having  sallied  out 
thence  but  a  vamped-up  business  at  first,  though  it  had  been  twice 
taken  to  pieces  on  Mount  Sennis,  it  had  not  profited  much  by  its 
adventures,  but  by  none  so  little  as  the  standing  so  many  months 
unpitied  in  the  corner  of  Monsieur  Dessein's  coach-yard.  Much, 
indeed,  was  not  to  be  said  for  it  —  but  something  might  —  and 
when  a  few  words  will  rescue  misery  out  of  her  distress,  I  hate  the 
man  who  can  be  a  churl  of  them." 

Le  tour  est  fait  I  Paillasse  has  tumbled!  Paillasse  has  jumped 
over  the  desobligeante,  cleared  it,  hood  and  all,  and  bows  to  the 
noble  company.  Does  anybody  believe  that  this  is  a  real  Senti- 
ment ?  that  this  luxury  of  generosity,  this  gallant  rescue  of  Misery  — 
out  of  an  old  cab,  is  genuine  feeling  ?  It  is  as  genuine  as  the  virtu- 

305 


STERNE   AND    GOLDSMITH 

ous  oratory  of  Joseph  Surface  when  he  begins,  "The  man  who," 
&c.  &c.,  and  wishes  to  pass  off  for  a  saint  with  his  credulous 
good-humored  dupes. 

Our  friend  purchases  the  carriage:  after  turning  that  notorious 
old  monk  to  good  account,  and  effecting  (like  a  soft  and  good- 
natured  Paillasse  as  he  was,  and  very  free  with  his  money  when  he 
had  it,)  an  exchange  of  snuff-boxes  with  the  old  Franciscan,  jogs 
out  of  Calais;  sets  down  in  immense  figures  on  the  credit  side  of 
his  account  the  sous  he  gives  away  to  the  Montreuil  beggars;  and 
at  Nampont,  gets  out  of  the  chaise  and  whimpers  over  that  famous 
dead  donkey,  for  which  any  sentimentalist  may  cry  who  will.  It 
is  agreeably  and  skilfully  done  —  that  dead  jackass:  like  M.  de 
Soubise's  cook  on  the  campaign,  Sterne  dresses  it,  and  serves  it  up 
quite  tender  and  with  a  very  piquante  sauce.  But  tears  and  fine 
feelings,  and  a  white  pocket-handkerchief,  and  a  funeral  sermon, 
and  horses  and  feathers,  and  a  procession  of  mutes,  and  a  hearse 
with  a  dead  donkey  inside!  Psha,  mountebank!  I'll  not  give  thee 
one  penny  more  for  that  trick,  donkey  and  all ! 

This  donkey  had  appeared  once  before  with  signal  effect.  In 
1765,  three  years  before  the  publication  of  the  "Sentimental  Jour- 
ney," the  seventh  and  eight  volumes  of  "Tristram  Shandy"  were 
given  to  the  world,  and  the  famous  Lyons  donkey  makes  his  entry 
hi  those  volumes  (pp.  315,  316):  — 

"  'Twas  by  a  poor  ass,  with  a  couple  of  large  panniers  at  his  back, 
who  had  just  turned  in  to  collect  eleemosynary  turnip-tops  and 
cabbage-leaves,  and  stood  dubious,  with  his  two  forefeet  at  the 
inside  of  the  threshold,  and  with  his  two  hinder  feet  towards  the 
street,  as  not  knowing  very  well  whether  he  was  to  go  in  or  no. 

"  Now  'tis  an  animal  (be  in  what  hurry  I  may)  I  cannot  bear  to 
strike :  there  is  a  patient  endurance  of  suffering  wrote  so  unaffectedly 
in  his  looks  and  carriage  which  pleads  so  mightily  for  him,  that  it 
always  disarms  me,  and  to  that  degree  that  I  do  not  like  to  speak 
unkindly  to  him:  on  the  contrary,  meet  him  where  I  will,  whether 
in  town  or  country,  in  cart  or  under  panniers,  whether  in  liberty 
or  bondage,  I  have  ever  something  civil  to  say  to  him  on  my  part; 
and,  as  one  word  begets  another  (if  he  has  as  little  to  do  as  I),  I 
generally  fall  into  conversation  wi!h  him;  and  surely  never  is  my 
imagination  so  busy  as  in  framing  responses  from  the  etchings 
of  his  countenance;  and  where  those  carry  me  not  deep  enough,  hi 
flying  from  my  own  heart  into  his,  and  seeing  what  is  natural  for 

306 


STERNE   AND    GOLDSMITH 

an  ass  to  think  —  as  well  as  a  man  upon  the  occasion.  In  truth, 
it  is  the  only  creature  cf  all  the  classes  of  beings  below  me  with 
whom  I  can  do  this.  .  .  .  With  an  ass  I  can  commune  forever. 

"'Come,  Honesty,'  said  I,  seeing  it  was  impracticable  to  pass 
betwixt  him  and  the  gate,  'art  thou  for  coming  in  or  going  out?' 

"The  ass  twisted  his  head  round  to  look  up  the  street. 

"'Well!'  replied  I,  'we'll  wait  a  minute  for  thy  driver.' 

"He  turned  his  head  thoughtful  about,  and  looked  wistfully  the 
opposite  way. 

"'I  understand  thee  perfectly,'  answered  I:  'if  thou  takest  a 
wrong  step  in  this  affair,  he  will  cudgel  thee  to  death.  Well! 
a  minute  is  but  a  minute ;  and  if  it  saves  a  fellow-creature  a  drub- 
bing, it  shall  not  be  set  down  as  ill  spent.' 

"He  was  eating  the  stem  of  an  artichoke  as  this  discourse  went 
on,  and,  in  the  little  peevish  contentions  between  hunger  and  un- 
savoriness,  had  dropped  it  out  of  his  mouth,  half  a  dozen  times, 
and  had  picked  it  up  again.  'God  help  thee,  Jack!'  said  I,  'thou 
hast  a  bitter  breakfast  on't  —  and  many  a  bitter  day's  labor,  and 
many  a  bitter  blow,  I  fear,  for  its  wages!  'Tis  all,  all  bitterness 
to  thee  —  whatever  life  is  to  others!  And  now  thy  mouth  if  one 
knew  the  truth  of  it,  is  as  bitter,  I  dare  say,  as  soot'  (for  he  had  cast 
aside  the  stem),  'and  thou  hast  not  a  friend  perhaps  in  all  this 
world  that  will  give  thee  a  macaroon.'  In  saying  this,  I  pulled 
out  a  paper  of  'em,  which  I  had  just  bought,  and  gave  him  one;  — 
and,  at  this  moment  that  I  am  telling  it,  my  heart  smites  me  that 
there  was  more  of  pleasantry  in  the  conceit  of  seeing  how  an  ass 
would  eat  a  macaroon,  than  of  benevolence  in  giving  him  one, 
which  presided  in  the  act. 

"When  the  ass  had  eaten  his  macaroon,  I  pressed  him  to  come 
in.  The  poor  beast  was  heavy  loaded  —  his  legs  seemed  to  tremble 
under  him  —  he  hung  rather  backwards,  and,  as  I  pulled  at  his 
halter,  it  broke  in  my  hand.  He  looked  up  pensive  in  my  face: 
'  Don't  thrash  me  with  it;  but  if  you  will  you  may.'  'If  I  do,'  said 
I,  'I'll  be  d ." 

A  critic  who  refuses  to  see  in  this  charming  description  wit,  hu- 
mor, pathos,  a  kind  nature  speaking,  and  a  real  sentiment,  must  be 
hard  indeed  to  move  and  to  please.  A  page  or  two  farther  we  come 
to  a  description  not  less  beautiful  —  a  landscape  and  figures,  deli- 
ciously  painted  by  one  who  had  the  keenest  enjoyment  and  the  most 
tremulous  sensibility:  — 

307 


STERNE   AND    GOLDSMITH 

"  'Twas  in  the  road  between  Nismes  and  Lunel,  where  is  the  best 
Muscatto  wine  in  all  France:  the  sun  was  set,  they  had  done  their 
work:  the  nymphs  had  tied  up  their  hair  afresh,  and  the  swains  were 
preparing  for  a  carousal.  My  mule  made  a  dead  point.  '  'Tis  the 
pipe  and  tambourine,'  said  I  —  'I  never  will  argue  a  point  with  one 
of  your  family  as  long  as  I  live;'  so  leaping  off  his  back,  and  kicking 
off  one  boot  into  this  ditch  and  t'other  into  that, '  I'll  take  a  dance,' 
said  I,  '  so  stay  you  here.' 

"A  sunburnt  daughter  of  labor  rose  up  from  the  group  to  meet 
me  as  I  advanced  towards  them;  her  hair,  which  was  of  a  dark 
chestnut  approaching  to  a  black,  was  tied  up  in  a  knot,  all  but  a 
single  tress. 

" '  We  want  a  cavalier,'  said  she,  holding  out  both  her  hands,  as 
if  to  offer  them.  'And  a  cavalier  you  shall  have,'  said  I,  taking 
hold  of  both  of  them.  'We  could  not  have  done  without  you,'  said 
she,  letting  go  one  hand,  with  self-taught  politeness,  and  leading  me 
up  with  the  other. 

"  A  lame  youth,  whom  Apollo  had  recompensed  with  a  pipe,  and 
to  which  he  had  added  a  tambourine  of  his  own  accord,  ran  sweetly 
over  the  prelude,  as  he  sat  upon  the  bank.  'Tie  me  up  this  tress 
instantly,'  said  Nannette,  putting  a  piece  of  string  into  my  hand. 
It  taught  me  to  forget  I  was  a  stranger.  The  whole  knot  fell  down 
—  we  had  been  seven  years  acquainted.  The  youth  struck  the 
note  upon  the  tambourine,  his  pipe  followed,  and  off  we  bounded. 

"  The  sister  of  the  youth  —  who  had  stolen  her  voice  from  heaven 
—  sang  alternately  with  her  brother.  'Twas  a  Gascoigne  rounde- 
lay:  Viva  la  joia,  fidon  la  trislessa.'  The  nymphs  joined  in  unison, 
and  their  swains  an  octave  below  them. 

"  Viva  la  joia  was  in  Nannette's  lips,  viva  la  joia  in  her  eyes.  A 
transient  spark  of  amity  shot  across  the  space  betwixt  us.  She 
looked  amiable.  Why  could  I  not  live  and  end  my  days  thus? 
'  Just  Disposer  of  our  joys  and  sorrows!'  cried  I,  'why  could  not  a 
man  sit  down  in  the  lap  of  content  here,  and  dance,  and  sing,  and 
say  his  prayers,  and  go  to  heaven'with  this  nut-brown  maid  ? '  Ca- 
priciously did  she  bend  her  head  on  one  side,  and  dance  up  insidious. 
'  Then  'tis  time  to  dance  off,'  quoth  I." 

And  with  this  pretty  dance  and  chorus,  the  volume  artfully  con- 
cludes. Even  here  one  can't  give  the  whole  description.  There  is 
not  a  page  in  Sterne's  writing  but  has  something  that  were  better 
away,  a  latent  corruption  —  a  hint  as  of  an  impure  presence. 

308 


STERNE   AND    GOLDSMITH 

Some  of  that  dreary  double  entendre  may  be  attributed  to  freer 
times  and  manners  than  ours,  but  not  all.  The  foul  Satyr's  eyes 
leer  out  of  the  leaves  constantly:  the  last  words  the  famous  author 
wrote  were  bad  and  wicked  —  the  last  lines  the  poor  stricken  wretch 
penned  were  for  pity  and  pardon.  I  think  of  these  past  writers  and 
of  one  who  lives  amongst  us  now,  and  am  grateful  for  the  innocent 
laughter  and  the  sweet  and  unsullied  page  which  the  author  of 
"  David  Copperfield  "  gives  to  my  children. 

"  Jete"  sur  cette  boule, 
Laid,  che"tif  et  souffrant; 
Etouffe"  dans  la  foule, 
Faute  d'fetre  assez  grand: 

"Une  plainte  touchante 
De  ma  bouche  sortit. 
Le  bon  Dieu  me  dit:  Chante, 
Chante,  pauvre  petit! 

"Chanter,  ou  je  m'abuse, 
Est  ma  tache  ici  bas. 
Toux  ceux  qu'ainsi  j 'amuse, 
Ne  m'aimeront-ils  pas?" 

In  those  charming  lines  of  Bdranger,  one  may  fancy  described 
the  career,  the  sufferings,  the  genius,  the  gentle  nature  of  GOLD- 
SMITH, and  the  esteem  in  which  we  hold  him.  Who,  of  the  millions 
whom  he  has  amused,  doesn't  love  him  ?  To  be  the  most  beloved 
of  English  writers,  what  a  title  that  is  for  a  man!  A  wild  youth, 
wayward,  but  full  of  tenderness  and  affection,  quits  the  country  vil- 
lage where  his  boyhood  has  been  passed  in  happy  musing,  in  idle 
shelter,  in  fond  longing  to  see  the  great  world  out  of  doors,  and 
achieve  name  and  fortune;  and  after  years  of  dire  struggle,  and 
neglect  and  poverty,  his  heart  turning  back  as  fondly  to  his  native 
place  as  it  had  longed  eagerly  for  change  when  sheltered  there,  he 
writes  a  book  and  a  poem,  full  of  the  recollections  and  feelings  of 
home:  he  paints  the  friends  and  scenes  of  his  youth,  and  peoples 
Auburn  and  Wakefield  with  remembrances  of  Lissoy.  Wander 
he  must,  but  he  carries  away  a  home-relic  with  him,  and  dies  with 
it  on  his  breast.  His  nature  is  truant;  in  repose  it  longs  for  change: 
as  on  the  journey  it  looks  back  for  friends  and  quiet.  He  passes  to- 
day in  building  an  air-castle  for  to-morrow,  or  in  writing  yesterday's 
elegy;  and  he  would  fly  away  this  hour,  but  that  a  cage  and  neces- 

309 


STERNE   AND    GOLDSMITH 

sity  keep  him.  What  is  the  charm  of  his  verse,  of  his  style,  and  hu- 
mor? His  sweet  regrets,  his  delicate  compassion,  his  soft  smile, 
his  tremulous  sympathy,  the  weakness  which  he  owns?  Your  love 
for  him  is  half  pity.  You  come  hot  and  tired  from  the  day's  battle, 
and  this  sweet  minstrel  sings  to  you.  Who  could  harm  the  kind 
vagrant  harper  ?  Whom  did  he  ever  hurt  ?  He  carries  no  weapon, 
save  the  harp  on  which  he  plays  to  you;  and  with  which  he  delights 
great  and  humble,  young  and  old,  the  captains  in  the  tents,  or  the 
soldiers  round  the  fire,  or  the  women  and  children  in  the  villages,  at 
whose  porches  he  stops  and  sings  his  simple  songs  of  love  and  beauty. 
With  that  sweet  story  of  the  "Vicar  of  Wakefield  "  he  has  found  en- 
try into  every  castle  and  every  hamlet  in  Europe.  Not  one  of  us, 
however  busy  or  hard,  but  once  or  twice  in  our  lives  has  passed  an 
evening  with  him,  and  undergone  the  charm  of  his  delightful  music. 
Goldsmith's  father  was  no  doubt  the  good  Doctor  Primrose, 
whom  we  all  of  us  know.  Swift  was  yet  alive,  when  the  little  Oliver 
was  born  at  Pallas,  or  Pallasmore,  in  the  county  of  Longford,  in 
Ireland.  In  1730,  two  years  after  the  child's  birth,  Charles  Gold- 
smith removed  his  family  to  Lissoy,  in  the  county  Westmeath,  that 
sweet  "Auburn"  which  every  person  who  hears  me  has  seen  in 
fancy.  Here  the  kind  parson*  brought  up  his  eight  children ;  and 
loving  all  the  world,  as  his  son  says,  fancied  all  the  world  loved 
him.  He  had  a  crowd  of  poor  dependants  besides  those  hungry 
children.  He  kept  an  open  table;  round  which  sat  flatterers  and 
poor  friends,  who  laughed  at  the  honest  rector's  many  jokes,  and 

*  "At  church,  with  meek  and  unaffected  grace, 
His  looks  adorn 'd  the  venerable  place; 
Truth  from  his  lips  prevail'd  with  double  sway, 
And  fools  who  came  to  scoff  remain'd  to  pray. 
The  service  past,  around  the  pious  man, 
With  steady  zeal  each  honest  rustic  ran; 
E'en  children  follow'd  with  endearing  wile, 
And  pluck'd  his  gown  to  share  the  good  man's  smile. 
His  ready  smile  a  parent's  warmth  exprest, 
Their  welfare  pleased  him,  and  their  cares  distrest; 
To  them  his  heart,  his  love,  his  griefs  were  given, 
But  all  his  serious  thoughts  had  rest  in  Heaven. 
As  some  tall  cliff  that  lifts  its  awful  form, 
Swells  from  the  vale,  and  midway  leaves  the  storm, 
Though  round  its  breast  the  rolling  clouds  are  spread, 
Eternal  sunshine  settles  on  its  head." 

The  Deserted  Village. 

310 


STERNE   AND    GOLDSMITH 

ate  the  produce  of  his  seventy  acres  of  farm.  Those  who  have  seen 
an  Irish  house  in  the  present  day  can  fancy  that  one  of  Lissoy. 
The  old  beggar  still  has  his  allotted  corner  by  the  kitchen  turf;  the 
maimed  old  soldier  still  gets  his  potatoes  and  buttermilk;  the  poor 
cottier  still  asks  his  honor's  charity,  and  prays  God  bless  his  rever- 
ence for  the  sixpence :  the  ragged  pensioner  still  takes  his  place  by 
right  and  sufferance.  There's  still  a  crowd  in  the  kitchen,  and  a 
crowd  round  the  parlor-table,  profusion,  confusion,  kindness,  pov- 
erty. If  an  Irishman  comes  to  London  to  make  his  fortune,  he 
has  a  half-dozen  of  Irish  dependants  who  take  a  percentage  of  his 
earnings.  The  good  Charles  Goldsmith  left  but  little  provision 
for  his  hungry  race  when  death  summoned  him:  and  one  of  his 
daughters  being  engaged  to  a  Squire  of  rather  superior  dignity, 
Charles  Goldsmith  impoverished  the  rest  of  his  family  to  provide 
the  girl  with  a  dowry. 

The  small-pox,  which  scourged  all  Europe  at  that  time,  and 
ravaged  the  roses  off  the  cheeks  of  half  the  world,  fell  foul  of  poor 
little  Oliver's  face,  when  the  child  was  eight  years  old,  and  left  him 
scarred  and  disfigured  for  his  life.  An  old  woman  in  his  father's 
village  taught  him  his  letters,  and  pronounced  him  a  dunce:  Paddy 
Byrne,  the  hedge-schoolmaster,  took  him  in  hand ;  and  from  Paddy 
Byrne,  he  was  transmitted  to  a  clergyman  at  Elphin.  When  a 
child  was  sent  to  school  in  those  days,  the  classic  phrase  was  that 
he  was  placed  under  Mr.  So-and-so's  ferule.  Poor  little  ancestors ! 
It  is  hard  to  think  how  ruthlessly  you  were  birched ;  and  how  much 
of  needless  whipping  and  tears  our  small  forefathers  had  to  undergo ! 
A  relative  —  kind  uncle  Contarine,  took  the  main  charge  of  little 
Noll;  who  went  through  his  school-days  righteously  doing  as  little 
work  as  he  could:  robbing  orchards,  playing  at  ball,  and  making 
his  pocket-money  fly  about  whenever  fortune  sent  it  to  him.  Every- 
body knows  the  story  of  that  famous  "Mistake  of  a  Night,"  when 
the  young  schoolboy,  provided  with  a  guinea  and  a  nag,  rode  up 
to  the  "best  house"  in  Ardagh,  called  for  the  landlord's  company 
over  a  bottle  of  wine  at  supper,  and  for  a  hot  cake  for  breakfast 
in  the  morning;  and  found,  when  he  asked  for  the  bill,  that  the  best 
house  was  Squire  Featherstone's,  and  not  the  inn  for  which  he  mis- 
took it.  Who  does  not  know  every  story  about  Goldsmith?  That 
is  a  delightful  and  fantastic  picture  of  the  child  dancing  and  caper- 
ing about  in  the  kitchen  at  home,  when  the  old  fiddler  gibed  at  him 
for  his  ugliness,  and  called  him  ^Esop;  and  little  Noll  made  his 


STERNE   AND    GOLDSMITH 

repartee  of  "  Heralds  proclaim  aloud  this  saying  —  See  .<Esop 
.dancing  and  his  monkey  playing."  One  can  fancy  a  queer  pitiful 
look  of  humor  and  appeal  upon  that  little  scarred  face  —  the 
funny  little  dancing  figure,  the  funny  little  brogue.  In  his  life, 
and  his  writings,  which  are  the  honest  expression  of  it,  he  is  con- 
stantly bewailing  that  homely  face  and  person;  anon,  he  surveys 
them  in  the  glass  ruefully;  and  presently  assumes  the  most  comical 
dignity.  He  likes  to  deck  out  his  little  person  in  splendor  and 
fine  colors.  He  presented  himself  to  be  examined  for  ordination 
in  a  pair  of  scarlet  breeches,  and  said  honestly  that  he  did  not  like 
to  go  into  the  church,  because  he  was  fond  of  colored  clothes. 
When  he  tried  to  practise  as  a  doctor,  he  got  by  hook  or  by  crook 
a  black  velvet  suit,  and  looked  as  big  and  grand  as  he  could,  and 
kept  his  hat  over  a  patch  on  the  old  coat :  in  better  days  he  bloomed 
out  in  plum-color,  hi  blue  silk,  and  hi  new  velvet.  For  some  of 
those  splendors  the  heirs  and  assignees  of  Mr.  Filby,  the  tailor, 
have  never  been  paid  to  this  day:  perhaps  the  kind  tailor  and  his 
creditor  have  met  and  settled  the  little  account  in  Hades. 

They  showed  until  lately  a  window  at  Trinity  College,  Dublin, 
on  which  the  name  of  O.  Goldsmith  was  engraved  with  a  diamond. 
Whose  diamond  was  it?  Not  the  young  sizar's,  who  made  but  a 
poor  figure  in  that  place  of  learning.  He  was  idle,  penniless,  and 
fond  of  pleasure:  he  learned  his  way  early  to  the  pawnbroker's 
shop.  He  wrote  ballads,  they  say,  for  the  street-singers,  who  paid 
him  a  crown  for  a  poem:  and  his  pleasure  was  to  steal  out  at  night 
and  hear  his  verses  sung.  He  was  chastised  by  his  tutor  for  giving 
a  dance  in  his  rooms,  and  took  the  box  on  the  ear  so  much  to  heart, 
that  he  packed  up  his  all,  pawned  his  books  and  little  property,  and 
disappeared  from  college  and  family.  He  said  he  intended  to  go 
to  America,  but  when  his  money  was  spent,  the  young  prodigal 
came  home  ruefully,  and  the  good  folks  there  killed  their  calf  —  it 
was  but  a  lean  one  —  and  welcomed  him  back. 

After  college,  he  hung  about  his  mother's  house,  and  lived  for 
some  years  the  life  of  a  buckeen  —  passed  a  month  with  this  relation 
and  that,  a  year  with  one  patron,  a  great  deal  of  time  at  the  public- 
house.  Tired  of  this  life,  it  was  resolved  that  he  should  go  to 
London,  and  study  at  the  Temple ;  but  he  got  no  farther  on  the  road 
to  London  and  the  woolsack  than  Dublin,  where  he  gambled  away 
the  fifty  pounds  given  to  him  for  his  outfit,  and  whence  he  returned 
to  the  indefatigable  forgiveness  of  home.  Then  he  determined  to 

312 


STERNE   AND    GOLDSMITH 

be  a  doctor,  and  uncle  Contarine  helped  him  to  a  couple  of  years  at 
Edinburgh.  Then  from  Edinburgh  he  felt  that  he  ought  to  hear  the 
famous  professors  of  Leyden  and  Paris,  and  wrote  most  amusing 
pompous  letters  to  his  uncle  about  the  great  Farheim,  Du  Petit, 
and  Duhamel  du  Monceau,  whose  lectures  he  proposed  to  follow. 
If  uncle  Contarine  believed  those  letters  —  if  Oliver's  mother 
believed  that  story  which  the  youth  related  of  his  going  to  Cork, 
with  the  purpose  of  embarking  for  America,  of  his  having  paid  his 
passage-money,  and  having  sent  his  kit  on  board ;  of  the  anonymous 
captain  sailing  away  with  Oliver's  valuable  luggage,  in  a  nameless 
ship,  never  to  return;  if  uncle  Contarine  and  the  mother  at  Bally- 
mahon  believed  his  stories,  they  must  have  been  a  very  simple  pair; 
as  it  was  a  very  simple  rogue  indeed  who  cheated  them.  When  the 
lad,  after  failing  hi  his  clerical  examination,  after  failing  in  his  plan 
for  studying  the  law,  took  leave  of  these  projects  and  of  his  parents, 
and  set  out  for  Edinburgh,  he  saw  mother,  and  uncle,  and  lazy 
Ballymahon,  and  green  native  turf,  and  sparkling  river  for  the  last 
time.  He  was  never  to  look  on  old  Ireland  more,  and  only  hi  fancy 
revisit  her. 

"But  me  not  destined  such  delights  to  share, 
My  prime  of  life  in  wandering  spent  and  care, 
Impelled,  with  steps  unceasing,  to  pursue 
Some  fleeting  good  that  mocks  me  with  the  view; 
That  like  the  circle  bounding  earth  and  skies 
Allures  from  far,  yet,  as  I  follow,  flies: 
My  fortune  leads  to  traverse  realms  alone, 
And  find  no  spot  of  all  the  world  my  own." 

I  spoke  in  a  former  lecture  of  that  high  courage  which  enabled 
Fielding,  hi  spite  of  disease,  remorse,  and  poverty,  always  to  retain 
a  cheerful  spirit  and  to  keep  his  manly  benevolence  and  love  of 
truth  intact,  as  if  these  treasures  had  been  confided  to  him  for  the 
public  benefit,  and  he  was  accountable  to  posterity  for  their  honor- 
able employ ;  and  a  constancy  equally  happy  and  admirable  I  think 
was  shown  by  Goldsmith,  whose  sweet  and  friendly  nature  bloomed 
kindly  always  hi  the  midst  of  a  life's  storm,  and  rain,  and  bitter 
weather.  The  poor  fellow  was  never  so  friendless  but  he  could 
befriend  some  one;  never  so  pinched  and  wretched  but  he  could 
give  rf  his  crust,  and  speak  his  word  of  compassion.  If  he  had  but 
his  flute  left,  he  could  give  that,  and  make  the  children  happy  in  the 
dreary  London  court.  He  could  give  the  coals  in  that  queer  coal- 

313 


STERNE   AND    GOLDSMITH 

scuttle  we  read  of  to  his  poor  neighbor:  he  could  give  away  his 
blankets  in  college  to  the  poor  widow,  and  warm  himself  as  he  best 
might  in  the  feathers:  he  could  pawn  his  coat  to  save  his  landlord 
from  gaol:  when  he  was  a  school-usher  he  spent  his  earnings  in 
treats  for  the  boys,  and  the  good-natured  schoolmaster's  wife  said 
justly  that  she  ought  to  keep  Mr.  Goldsmith's  money  as  well  as  the 
young  gentlemen's.  When  he  met  his  pupils  in  later  life,  nothing 
would  satisfy  the  Doctor  but  he  must  treat  them  still.  "  Have  you 
seen  the  print  of  me  after  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds?"  he  asked  one  of 
his  old  pupils.  "Not  seen  it?  not  bought  it?  Sure,  Jack,  if  your 
picture  had  been  published,  I'd  not  have  been  without  it  half  an 
hour."  His  purse  and  his  heart  were  everybody's,  and  his  friends' 
as  much  as  his  own.  When  he  was  at  the  height  of  his  reputation, 
and  the  Earl  of  Northumberland,  going  as  Lord  Lieutenant  to 
Ireland,  asked  if  he  could  be  of  any  service  to  Dr.  Goldsmith. 
Goldsmith  recommended  his  brother,  and  not  himself,  to  the  great 
man.  "My  patrons,"  he  gallantly  said,  "are  the  booksellers,  and 
I  want  no  others."  Hard  patrons  they  were,  and  hard  work  he 
did;  but  he  did  not  complain  much:  if  in  his  early  writings  some 
bitter  words  escaped  him,  some  allusions  to  neglect  and  poverty,  he 
withdrew  these  expressions  when  his  works  were  republished,  and 
better  days  seemed  to  open  for  him;  and  he  did  not  care  to  complain 
that  printer  or  publisher  had  overlooked  his  merit,  or  left  him  poor. 
The  Court  face  was  turned  from  honest  Oliver,  the  Court  patronized 
Beattie ;  the  fashion  did  not  shine  on  him  —  fashion  adored  Sterne. 
Fashion  pronounced  Kelly  to  be  the  great  writer  of  comedy  of  his 
day.  A  little  —  not  ill-humour,  but  plaintiveness  —  a  little 
betrayal  of  wounded  pride  which  he  showed  render  him  not  the 
less  amiable.  The  author  of  the  "Vicar  of  Wakefield"  had  a 
right  to  protest  when  Newbery  kept  back  the  MS.  for  two  years; 
had  a  right  to  be  a  little  peevish  with  Sterne;  a  little  angry  when 
Colman's  actors  declined  their  parts  in  his  delightful  comedy, 
when  the  manager  refused  to  have  a  scene  painted  for  it,  and 
pronounced  its  damnation  before  hearing.  He  had  net  the  great 
public  with  him;  but  he  had  the  noble  Johnson,  and  the  admirable 
Reynolds,  and  the  great  Gibbon,  and  the  great  Burke,  and  the  great 
Fox  —  friends  and  admirers  illustrious  indeed,  as  famous  as  those 
who,  fifty  years  before,  sat  round  Pope's  table. 

Nobody  knows,  and  I  dare  say  Goldsmith's  buoyant  temper 
kept  no  account  of  all  the  pains  which  he  endured  during  the  early 


STERNE   AND    GOLDSMITH 

period  of  his  literary  career.  Should  any  man  of  letters  in  our  day 
have  to  bear  up  against  such,  heaven  grant  he  may  come  out  of  the 
period  of  misfortune  with  such  a  pure  kind  heart  as  that  which 
Goldsmith  obstinately  bore  in  his  breast.  The  insults  to  which  he 
had  to  submit  are  shocking  to  read  of  —  slander,  contumely, 
vulgar  satire,  brutal  malignity  perverting  his  commonest  motives 
and  actions;  he  had  his  share  of  these,  and  one's  anger  is  roused 
at  reading  of  them,  as  it  is  at  seeing  a  woman  insulted  or  a  child 
assaulted,  at  the  notion  that  a  creature  so  very  gentle  and  weak,  and 
full  of  love,  should  have  had  to  suffer  so.  And  he  had  worse  than 
insult  to  undergo  —  to  own  to  fault  and  deprecate  the  anger  of 
ruffians.  There  is  a  letter  of  his  extant  to  one  Griffiths,  a  bookseller, 
in  which  poor  Goldsmith  is  forced  to  confess  that  certain  books 
sent  by  Griffiths  are  in  the  hands  of  a  friend  from  whom  Goldsmith 
had  been  forced  to  borrow  money.  "He  was  wild,  sir,"  Johnson 
said,  speaking  of  Goldsmith  to  Boswell,  with  his  great,  wise  benev- 
olence and  noble  mercifulness  of  heart  —  "  Dr.  Goldsmith  was  wild, 
sir;  but  he  is  so  no  more."  Ah!  if  we  pity  the  good  and  weak  man 
who  suffers  undeservedly,  let  us  deal  very  gently  with  him  from 
whom  misery  extorts  not  only  tears,  but  shame;  let  us  think  humbly 
and  charitably  of  the  human  nature  that  suffers  so  sadly  and  falls 
so  low.  Whose  turn  may  it  be  to-morrow?  What  weak  heart, 
confident  before  trial,  may  not  succumb  under  temptation  invinci- 
ble ?  Cover  the  good  man  who  has  been  vanquished  —  cover  his 
face  and  pass  on. 

For  the  last  half-dozen  years  of  his  life  Goldsmith  was  far  removed 
from  the  pressure  of  any  ignoble  necessity:  and  in  the  receipt, 
indeed,  of  a  pretty  large  income  from  the  booksellers  his  patrons. 
Had  he  lived  but  a  few  years  more,  his  public  fame  would  have 
been  as  great  as  his  private  reputation,  and  he  might  have  enjoyed 
alive  a  part  of  that  esteem  which  his  country  has  ever  since  paid  to 
the  vivid  and  versatile  genius  who  has  touched  on  almost  every 
subject  of  literature,  and  touched  nothing  that  he  did  not  adorn. 
Except  in  rare  instances,  a  man  is  known  in  our  profession,  and 
esteemed  as  a  skilful  workman,  years  before  the  lucky  hit  which 
trebles  his  usual  gains,  and  stamps  him  a  popular  author.  In  the 
strength  of  his  age,  and  the  dawn  of  his  reputation,  having  for 
backers  and  friends  the  most  illustrious  literary  men  of  his  time, 
fame  and  prosperity  might  have  been  in  store  for  Goldsmith,  had 
fate  so  willed  it;  and,  at  forty-six  had  not  sudden  disease  carried 

315 


STERNE   AND    GOLDSMITH 

him  off.  I  say  prosperity  rather  than  competence,  for  it  is  probable 
that  no  sum  could  have  put  order  into  his  affairs  or  sufficed  for  his 
irreclaimable  habits  of  dissipation.  It  must  be  remembered  that  he 
owed  2,ooo/.  when  he  died.  "Was  ever  poet,"  Johnson  asked,  "so 
trusted  before?"  As  has  been  the  case  with  many  another  good 
fellow  of  his  nation,  his  life  was  tracked  and  his  substance  wasted 
by  crowds  of  hungry  beggars  and  lazy  dependants.  If  they  came 
at  a  lucky  time  (and  be  sure  they  knew  his  affairs  better  than  he 
did  himself,  and  watched  his  pay-day),  he  gave  them  of  his  money: 
if  they  begged  on  empty-purse  days  he  gave  them  his  promissory  bills: 
or  he  treated  them  to  a  tavern  where  he  had  credit ;  or  he  obliged  them 
with  an  order  upon  honest  Mr.  Filby  for  coats,  for  which  he  paid 
as  long  as  he  could  earn,  and  until  the  shears  of  Filby  were  to  cut 
for  him  no  more.  Staggering  under  a  load  of  debt  and  labor, 
tracked  by  bailiffs  and  reproachful  creditors,  running  from  a 
hundred  poor  dependants,  whose  appealing  looks  were  perhaps  the 
hardest  of  all  pains  for  him  to  bear,  devising  fevered  plans  for  to- 
morrow, new  histories,  new  comedies,  all  sorts  of  new  literary 
schemes,  flying  from  all  these  into  seclusion,  and  out  of  seclusion 
into  pleasure  —  at  last,  at  five-and-forty,  death  seized  him  and 
closed  his  career.  I  have  been  many  a  time  in  the  chambers  in  the 
Temple  which  were  his,  and  passed  up  the  staircase,  which  Johnson, 
and  Burke,  and  Reynolds  trod  to  see  their  friend,  their  poet,  their 
kind  Goldsmith  —  the  stair  on  which  the  poor  women  sat  weeping 
bitterly  when  they  heard  that  the  greatest  and  most  generous  of  all 
men  was  dead  within  the  black  oak  door.  Ah,  it  was  a  different 
lot  from  that  for  which  the  poor  fellow  sighed,  when  he  wrote  with 
heart  yearning  for  home  those  most  charming  of  all  fond  verses, 
in  which  he  fancies  he  revisits  Auburn  — 

"Here,  as  I  take  my  solitary  rounds, 

Amidst  thy  tangling  walks  and  ruined  grounds, 

And,  many  a  year  elapsed,  return  to  view 

Where  once  the  cottage  stood,  the  hawthorn  grew, 

Remembrance  wakes,  with  all  her  busy  train, 

Swells  at  my  breast,  and  turns  the  past  to  pain. 

"In  all  my  wanderings  round  this  world  of  care, 
In  all  my  griefs  —  and  God  has  given  my  share  — 
I  still  had  hopes  my  latest  hours  to  crown, 
Amidst  these  humble  bowers  to  lay  me  down; 
To  husband  out  life's  taper  at  the  close, 

316 


STERNE   AND    GOLDSMITH 

And  keep  the  flame  from  wasting  by  repose; 
I  still  had  hopes  —  for  pride  attends  us  still  — 
Amidst  the  swains  to  show  my  book-learned  skill, 
Around  my  fire  an  evening  group  to  draw, 
And  tell  of  all  I  felt  and  all  I  saw; 
And,  as  a  hare,  whom  hounds  and  horns  pursue, 
Pants  to  the  place  from  whence  at  first  he  flew  — 
I  still  had  hopes  —  my  long  vexations  past, 
Here  to  return,  and  die  at  home  at  last. 

"O  blest  retirement,  friend  to  life's  decline! 
Retreats  from  care  that  never  must  be  mine  — 
How  blest  is  he  who  crowns,  in  shades  like  these, 
A  youth  of  labor  with  an  age  of  ease; 
Who  quits  a  world  where  strong  temptations  try, 
And,  since  'tis  hard  to  combat,  learns  to  fly! 
For  him  no  wretches  born  to  work  and  weep 
Explore  the  mine  or  tempt  the  dangerous  deep; 
No  surly  porter  stands  in  guilty  state 
To  spurn  imploring  famine  from  the  gate: 
But  on  he  moves  to  meet  his  latter  end, 
Angels  around  befriending  virtue's  friend; 
Sinks  to  the  grave  with  unperceived  decay, 
Whilst  resignation  gently  slopes  the  way; 
And  all  his  prospects  brightening  to  the  last, 
His  heaven  commences  ere  the  world  be  past." 

In  these  verses,  I  need  not  say  with  what  melody,  with  what 
touching  truth,  with  what  exquisite  beauty  of  comparison  —  as 
indeed  in  hundreds  more  pages  of  the  writings  of  this  honest  soul  — 
the  whole  character  of  the  man  is  told  —  his  humble  confession  of 
faults  and  weakness;  his  pleasant  little  vanity,  and  desire  that  his 
village  should  admire  him;  his  simple  scheme  of  good  in  which 
everybody  was  to  be  happy  —  no  beggar  was  to  be  refused  his  dinner 
—  nobody  in  fact  was  to  work  much,  and  he  to  be  the  harmless  chief 
of  the  Utopia,  and  the  monarch  of  the  Irish  Yvetot.  He  would 
have  told  again,  and  without  fear  of  their  failing,  those  famous  jokes 
which  had  hung  fire  in  London ;  he  would  have  talked  of  his  great 
friends  of  the  Club  —  of  my  Lord  Clare  and  my  Lord  Bishop,  my 
Lord  Nugent  —  sure  he  knew  them  intimately,  and  was  hand  and 
glove  with  some  of  the  best  men  in  town  —  and  he  would  have 
spoken  of  Johnson  and  of  Burke,  and  of  Sir  Joshua  who  had 
painted  him  —  and  he  would  have  told  wonderful  sly  stories  of 
Ranelagh  and  the  Pantheon,  and  the  masquerades  at  Madame  Cor- 

317 


STERNE   AND    GOLDSMITH 

nelis';  and  he  would  have  toasted,  with  a  sigh,  the  Jessamy  Bride 
—  the  lovely  Mary  Hcrneck. 

The  figure  cf  that  charming  young  lady  forms  one  of  the  prettiest 
recollections  cf  Goldsmith's  life.  She  and  her  beautiful  sister, 
who  married  Bunbury,'the  graceful  and  humorous  amateur  artist 
cf  those  days,  when  Gilray  had  but  just  begun  to  try  his  powers, 
were  among  the  kindest  and  dearest  of  Goldsmith's  many  friends, 
cheered  and  pitied  him,  travelled  abroad  with  him,  made  him  wel- 
come at  their  home,  and  gave  him  many  a  pleasant  holiday.  He 
bought  his  finest  clothes  to  figure  at  their  country-house  at  Barton 
—  he  wrote  them  droll  verses.  They  loved  him,  laughed  at  him, 
played  him  tricks  and  made  him  happy.  He  asked  for  a  loan  from 
Garrick,  and  Garrick  kindly  supplied  him,  to  enable  him  to  go  to 
Barton :  but  there  were  to  be  no  more  holidays,  and  only  one  brief 
struggle  mere  for  poor  Goldsmith.  A  lock  of  his  hair  was  taken 
from  the  coffin  and  given  to  the  Jessamy  Bride.  She  lived  quite 
into  our  time.  Hazlitt  saw  her  an  old  lady,  but  beautiful  still,  in 
Northcote's  painting-room,  who  told  the  eager  critic  how  proud  she 
always  was  that  Goldsmith  had  admired  her.  The  younger  Col- 
man  has  left  a  touching  reminiscence  of  him.  Vol.  i.  63,  64. 

"I  was  only  five  years  old,"  he  says,  "when  Goldsmith  took  me 
on  his  knee  one  evening  whilst  he  was  drinking  coffee  with  my  father, 
and  began  to  play  with  me,  which  amiable  act  I  returned,  with  the 
ingratitude  of  a  peevish  brat,  by  giving  him  a  very  smart  slap  on  the 
face :  it  must  have  been  a  tingler,  for  it  left  the  marks  of  my  spiteful 
paw  on  his  cheek.  This  infantile  outrage  was  followed  by  summary 
justice,  and  I  was  locked  up  by  my  indignant  father  in  an  adjoining 
room  to  undergo  solitary  imprisonment  in  the  dark.  Here  I  began 
to  howl  and  scream  most  abominably,  which  was  no  bad  step  to- 
wards my  liberation,  since  those  who  were  not  inclined  to  pity  me 
might  be  likely  to  set  me  free  for  the  purpose  of  abating  a  nuisance. 

"  At  length  a  generous  friend  appeared  to  extricate  me  from  jeop- 
ardy, and  that  generous  friend  was  no  other  than  the  man  I  had  so 
wantonly  molested  by  assault  and  battery  —  it  was  the  tender- 
hearted Doctor  himself,  with  a  lighted  candle  in  his  hand,  and  a 
smile  upon  his  countenance,  which  was  still  partially  red  from  the 
effects  of  my  petulance.  I  sulked  and  sobbed  as  he  fondled  and 
soothed,  till  I  began  to  brighten.  Goldsmith  seized  the  propitious 
moment  of  returning  good-humor,  when  he  put  down  the  candle 
and  began  to  conjure.  He  placed  three  hats,  which  happened  to 

318      • 


STERNE   AND    GOLDSMITH 

be  in  the  room,  and  a  shilling  tinder  each.  The  shillings  he  told  me 
were  England,  France,  and  Spain.  'Hey  Presto  cockalorum!' 
cried  the  Doctor,  and  lo,  on  uncovering  the  shillings,  which  had 
been  dispersed  each  beneath  a  separate  hat,  they  were  all  found  con- 
gregated under  one.  I  was  no  politician  at  five  years  old,  and  there- 
fore might  net  have  wondered  at  the  sudden  revolution  which 
brought  England,  France,  and  Spain  all  under  one  crown;  but,  as 
also  I  was  no  conjurer,  it  amazed  me  beyond  measure.  .  .  .  From 
that  time,  whenever  the  doctor  came  to  visit  my  father,  'I  plucked 
his  gown  to  share  the  good  man's  smile;'  a  game  at  romps  con- 
stantly ensued,  and  we  were  always  cordial  friends  and  merry  play- 
fellows. Our  unequal  companionship  varied  somewhat  as  to  sports 
as  I  grew  older;  but  it  did  not  last  long:  my  senior  playmate  died 
in  his  forty-fifth  year,  when  I  had  attained  my  eleventh.  ...  In 
all  the  numerous  accounts  of  his  virtues  and  fcibles,  his  genius  and 
absurdities,  his  knowledge  of  nature  and  ignorance  of  the  world, 
his  'compassion  for  another's  woe'  was  always  predominant;  and 
my  trivial  story  of  his  humoring  a  froward  child  weighs  but  as  a 
feather  in  the  recorded  scale  of  his  benevolence." 

Think  of  him  reckless,  thriftless,  vain  if  you  like  —  but  merciful, 
gentle,  generous,  full  of  love  and  pity.  He  passes  out  of  our  life, 
and  goes  to  render  his  account  beyond  it.  Think  of  the  poor 
pensioners  weeping  at  his  grave;  think  of  the  noble  spirits  that 
admired  and  deplored  him;  think  of  the  righteous  pen  that  wrote 
his  epitaph  —  and  of  the  wonderful  and  unanimous  response  of 
affection  with  which  the  world  has  paid  back  the  love  he  gave  it. 
His  humor  delighting  us  still:  his  song  fresh  and  beautiful  as  when 
first  he  charmed  with  it;  his  words  in  all  our  mouths:  his  very 
weaknesses  beloved  and  familiar  —  his  benevolent  spirit  seems 
still  to  smile  upon  us:  to  do  gentle  kindnesses:  to  succor  with  sweet 
charity:  to  soothe,  caress,  and  forgive:  to  plead  with  the  fortunate 
for  the  unhappy  and  the  poor. 

His  name  is  the  last  in  the  list  of  those  men  of  humor  who  have 
formed  the  themes  of  the  discourses  which  you  have  heard  so 
kindly. 

Long  before  I  had  ever  hoped  for  such  an  audience,  or  dreamed 

of  the  possibility  of  the  good  fortune  which  has  brought  me  so  many 

friends,  I  was  at  issue  with  some  of  my  literary  brethren  upon  a  point 

—  which  they  held  from  tradition  I  think  rather  than  experience 

319 


STERNE   AND    GOLDSMITH 

—  that  our  profession  was  neglected  in  this  country;  and  that  men 
of  letters  were  ill-received  and  held  in  slight  esteem.  It  would 
hardly  be  grateful  of  me  now  to  alter  my  old  opinion  that  we  do 
meet  with  good-will  and  kindness,  with  generous  helping  hands  in 
the  time  of  our  necessity,  with  cordial  and  friendly  recognition. 
What  claim  had  any  one  of  these  of  whom  I  have  been  speaking, 
but  genius?  What  return  of  gratitude,  fame,  affection,  did  it  not 
bring  to  all  ? 

What  punishment  befell  those  who  were  unfortunate  among 
them,  but  that  which  follows  reckless  habits  and  careless  h'ves? 
For  these  faults  a  wit  must  suffer  like  the  dullest  prodigal  that  ever 
ran  in  debt.  He  must  pay  the  tailor  if  he  wears  the  coat ;  his  chil- 
dren must  go  in  rags  if  he  spends  his  money  at  the  tavern ;  he  can't 
come  to  London  and  be  made  Lord  Chancellor  if  he  stops  on  the 
road  and  gambles  away  his  last  shilling  at  Dublin.  And  he  must 
pay  the  social  penalty  of  these  follies  too,  and  expect  that  the  world 
will  shun  the  man  of  bad  habits,  that  women  will  avoid  the  man  of 
loose  life,  that  prudent  folks  will  close  their  doors  as  a  precaution, 
and  before  a  demand  should  be  made  on  their  pockets  by  the  needy 
prodigal.  With  what  difficulty  had  any  one  of  these  men  to  con- 
tend, save  that  eternal  and  mechanical  one  of  want  of  means  and 
lack  of  capital,  and  of  which  thousands  of  young  lawyers,  young 
doctors,  young  soldiers  and  sailors,  of  inventors,  manufacturers, 
shop-keepers,  have  to  complain  ?  Hearts  as  brave  and  resolute  as 
ever  beat  in  the  breast  of  any  wit  or  poet,  sicken  and  break  daily  in 
the  vain  endeavor  and  unavailing  struggle  against  life's  difficulty. 
Don't  we  see  daily  ruined  inventors,  gray-haired  midshipmen, 
balked  heroes,  blighted  curates,  barristers  pining  a  hungry  life  out 
in  chambers,  the  attorneys  never  mounting  to  their  garrets,  whilst 
scores  of  them  are  rapping  at  the  door  of  the  successful  quack  below  ? 
If  these  suffer,  who  is  the  author,  that  he  should  be  exempt  ?  Let 
us  bear  our  ills  with  the  same  constancy  with  which  others  endure 
them,  accept  our  manly  part  in  life,  hold  our  own,  and  ask  no  more. 
I  can  conceive  of  no  kings  or  laws  causing  or  curing  Goldsmith's 
improvidence,  or  Fielding's  fatal  love  of  pleasure,  or  Dick  Steele's 
mania  for  running  races  with  the  constable.  You  never  can  out- 
run that  sure-footed  officer  —  not  by  any  swiftness  or  by  dodges 
devised  by  any  genius,  however  great;  and  he  carries  off  the  Tatler 
to  the  spunging-house,  or  taps  the  Citizen  of  the  World  on  the  shoul- 
der as  he  would  any  other  mortal. 

320 


STERNE   AND    GOLDSMITH 

Does  society  look  down  on  a  man  because  he  is  an  author?  I 
suppose  if  people  want  a  buffoon  they  tolerate  him  only  in  to  far  as 
he  is  amusing;  it  can  hardly  be  expected  that  they  should  respect 
him  as  an  equal.  Is  there  to  be  a  guard  of  honor  provided  for  the 
author  of  the  last  new  novel  or  poem?  how  long  is  he  to  reign, 
and  keep  other  potentates  out  of  possession  ?  He  retires,  grumbles, 
and  prints  a  lamentation  that  literature  is  despised.  If  Captain  A. 
is  left  out  of  Lady  B.'s  parties  he  does  not  state  that  the  army  is 
despised:  if  Lord  C.  no  longer  asks  Counsellor  D.  to  dinner,  Coun- 
sellor D.  does  not  announce  that  the  bar  is  insulted.  He  is  not  fair 
to  society  if  he  enters  it  with  this  suspicion  hankering  about  him; 
if  he  is  doubtful  about  his  reception,  how  hold  up  his  head  honestly, 
and  look  frankly  in  the  face  that  world  about  which  he  is  full  of 
suspicion  ?  Is  he  place-hunting,  and  thinking  in  his  mind  that  he 
ought  to  be  made  an  Ambassador,  like  Prior,  or  a  Secretary  of  State, 
like  Addison?  this  pretence  of  equality  falls  to  the  ground  at  once: 
he  is  scheming  for  a  patron,  not  shaking  the  hand  of  a  friend,  when 
he  meets  the  world.  Treat  such  a  man  as  he  deserves;  laugh  at  his 
buffoonery,  and  give  him  a  dinner  and  a  ban  jour;  laugh  at  his  self- 
sufficiency  and  absurd  assumptions  of  superiority,  and  his  equally 
ludicrous  airs  of  martyrdom:  laugh  at  his  flattery  and  his  scheming, 
and  buy  it,  if  it's  worth  the  having.  Let  the  wag  have  his  dinner 
and  the  hireling  his  pay  if  you  want  him,  and  make  a  profound  bow 
to  the  grand  homme  incompris,  and  the  boisterous  martyr,  and  show 
him  the  door.  The  great  world,  the  great  aggregate  experience, 
has  its  good  sense  as  it  has  its  good  humor.  It  detects  a  pretender, 
as  it  trusts  a  loyal  heart.  It  is  kind  in  the  main :  how  should  it  be 
otherwise  than  kind,  when  it  is  so  wise  and  clear  headed  ?  To  any 
literary  man  who  says,  "It  despises  my  profession,"  I  say,  with  all 
my  might  —  no,  no,  no.  It  may  pass  over  your  individual  case  — 
how  many  a  brave  fellow  has  failed  in  the  race,  and  perished  un- 
known in  the  struggle!  —  but  it  treats  you  as  you  merit  in  the  main. 
If  you  serve  it,  it  is  not  unthankful;  if  you  please,  it  is  pleased;  if 
you  cringe  to  it,  it  detects  you,  and  scorns  you  if  you  are  mean;  it 
returns  your  cheerf ulness  with  its  good  humor ;  it  deals  not  ungen- 
erously with  your  weaknesses;  it  recognizes  most  kindly  your  merits; 
it  gives  you  a  fair  place  and  fair  play.  To  any  one  of  those  men  of 
whom  we  have  spoken  was  it  in  the  main  ungrateful  ?  A  king  might 
refuse  Goldsmith  a  pension,  as  a  publisher  might  keep  his  master- 
piece and  the  delight  of  all  the  world  in  his  desk  for  two  years;  but 

321 


STERNE   AND    GOLDSMITH 

it  was  mistake,  and  not  ill-will.  Noble  and  illustrious  names  of 
Swift,  and  Pope,  and  Addison!  dear  and  honored  memories  of  Gold- 
smith and  Fielding!  kind  friends,  teachers,  benefactors!  who  shall 
say  that  our  country,  which  continues  to  bring  you  such  an  unceas- 
ing tribute  of  applause,  admiration,  love,  sympathy,  does  not  do 
honor  to  the  literary  calling  in  the  honor  which  it  bestows  upon 
you? 


322 


FROM 

THE    LIFE    AND   OPINIONS    OF 
TRISTRAM    SHANDY 

BY 

LAURENCE  STERNE 


THE    STORY    OF    LE    FEVER 


IT  was  some  time  in  the  summer  of  that  year  in  which  Dender- 
mond  was  taken  by  the  allies,  —  which  was  about  seven  years 
before  my  father  came  into  the  country,  —  and  about  as  many, 
after  the  time,  that  my  uncle  Toby  and  Trim  had  privately  de- 
camped from  my  father's  house  in  town,  in  order  to  lay  some  of 

the  finest  sieges  to  some  of  the  finest  fortified  cities  in  Europe 

when  my  uncle  Toby  was  one  evening  getting  his  supper,  with 
Trim  sitting  behind  him  at  a  small  sideboard,  —  I  say,  sitting  —  for 
in  consideration  of  the  corporal's  lame  knee  (which  sometimes 
gave  him  exquisite  pain)  —  when  my  uncle  Toby  dined  or  supped 
alone,  he  would  never  suffer  the  corporal  to  stand;  and  the  poor 
fellow's  veneration  for  his  master  was  such,  that,  with  a  proper 
artillery,  my  uncle  Toby  could  have  taken  Dendermond  itself,  with 
less  trouble  than  he  was  able  to  gain  this  point  over  him ;  for  many 
a  time  when  my  uncle  Toby  supposed  the  corporal's  leg  was  at  rest, 
he  would  look  back,  and  detect  him  standing  behind  him  with  the 
most  dutiful  respect:  this  bred  more  little  squabbles  betwixt  them, 
than  all  other  causes  for  five-and-twenty  years  together  —  But  this 

this  is  neither  here  nor  there  —  why  do  I  mention  it  ? Ask  my 

pen,  —  it  governs  me,  —  I  govern  not  it. 

He  was  one  evening  sitting  thus  at  his  supper,  when  the  land- 
lord of  a  little  inn  in  the  village  came  into  the  parlour,  with  an 
empty  phial  in  his  hand,  to  beg  a  glass  or  two  of  sack;  "Pis  for  a 
poor  gentleman,  —  I  think,  of  the  army,  said  the  landlord,  who 
has  been  taken  ill  at  my  house  four  days  ago,  and  has  never  held 
up  his  head  since,  or  had  a  desire  to  taste  any  thing,  till  just  now, 

that  he  has  a  fancy  for  a  glass  of  sack  and  a  thin  toast, 1 

think,  says  he,  taking  his  hand  from  his  forehead,  it  would  com- 
fort me. 

If  I  could  neither  beg,  borrow,  or  buy  such  a  thing  —  added 

the  landlord,  —  I  would  almost  steal  it  for  the  poor  gentleman, 

he  is  so  ill. 1  hope  in  God  he  will  still  mend,  continued  he, 

—  we  are  all  of  us  concerned  for  him. 

325 


THE   LIFE   AND    OPINIONS 

Thou  art  a  good-natured  soul,  I  will  answer  for  thee,  cried  my 
uncle  Toby;  and  thou  shalt  drink  the  poor  gentleman's  health  in 
a  glass  of  sack  thyself,  —  and  take  a  couple  of  bottles  with  my 
service,  and  tell  him  he  is  heartily  welcome  to  them,  and  to  a  dozen 
more  if  they  will  do  him  good. 

Though  I  am  persuaded,  said  my  uncle  Toby,  as  the  landlord 
shut  the  door,  he  is  a  very  compassionate  fellow  —  Trim,  —  yet 
I  cannot  help  entertaining  a  high  opinion  of  his  guest  too;  there 
must  be  something  more  than  common  in  him,  that  in  so  short  a 

time  should  win  so  much  upon  the  affections  of  his  host ; And 

of  his  whole  family,  added  the  corporal,  for  they  are  all  concerned 

for  him. Step  after  him,  said  my  uncle  Toby,  —  do,  Trim,  — 

and  ask  if  he  knows  his  name. 

1  have  quite  forgot  it  truly,  said  the  landlord,  coming  back 

into  the  parlour  with  the  corporal,  —  but  I  can  ask  his  son  again : 

Has  he  a  son  with  him  then  ?  said  my  uncle  Toby.  —  A  boy, 

replied  the  landlord,  of  about  eleven  or  twelve  years  of  age ;  —  but 
the  poor  creature  has  tasted  almost  as  little  as  his  father;  he  does 

nothing  but  mourn  and  lament  for  him  night  and  day: He  has 

not  stirred  from  the  bed-side  these  two  days. 

My  uncle  Toby  laid  down  his  knife  and  fork,  and  thrust  his  plate 
from  before  him,  as  the  landlord  gave  him  the  account ;  and  Trim, 
without  being  ordered,  took  away,  without  saying  one  word,  and 
in  a  few  minutes  after  brought  him  his  pipe  and  tobacco. 

Stay  in  the  room  a  little,  said  my  uncle  Toby. 

Trim! said  my  uncle  Toby,  after  he  lighted  his  pipe,  and 

smoak'd  about  a  dozen  whiffs. Trim  came  in  front  of  his  master, 

and  made  his  bow;  —  my  uncle  Toby  smoak'd  on,  and  said  no 

more. Corporal !  said  my  uncle  Toby the  corporal  made 

his  bow. My  uncle  Toby  proceeded  no  farther,  but  finished  his 

pipe. 

Trim!  said  my  uncle  Toby,  I  have  a  project  in  my  head,  as  it  is 
a  bad  night,  of  wrapping  myself  up  warm  in  my  roquelaure,  and 
paying  a  visit  to  this  pocr  gentleman. Your  honour's  roque- 
laure, replied  the  corporal,  has  not  once  been  had  on,  since  the 
night  before  your  honour  received  your  wound,  when  we  mounted 
guard  in  the  trenches  before  the  gate  of  St.  Nicholas; and  be- 
sides, it  is  so  cold  and  rainy  a  night,  that  what  with  the  roquelaure 
and  what  with  the  weather,  'twill  be  enough  to  give  your  honour 
your  death,  and  bring  on  your  honour's  torment  in  your  groin.  I 

326 


OF   TRISTRAM    SHANDY 

fear  so,  replied  my  uncle  Toby;  but  I  am  not  at  rest  in  my  mind, 

Trim,  since  the  account  the  landlord  has  given  me. 1  wish 

I  had  not  known  so  much  of  this  affair,  —  added  my  uncle  Toby,  — 

or  that  I  had  known  more  of  it: How  shall  we  manage  it? 

Leave  it,  an't  please  your  honour,  to  me,  quoth  the  corporal; 

I'll  take  my  hat  and  stick  and  go  to  the  house  and  reconnoitre,  and 
act  accordingly;  and  I  will  bring  your  honour  a  full  account  in  an 
hour.  —  -  Thou  shalt  go,  Trim,  said  my  uncle  Toby,  and  here's 
a  shilling  for  thee  to  drink  with  his  servant.  —  —  I  shall  get  it  all 
out  of  him,  said  the  corporal,  shutting  the  door. 

My  uncle  Toby  filled  his  second  pipe;  and  had  it  not  been,  that 
he  now  and  then  wandered  from  the  point,  with  considering  whether 
it  was  not  full  as  well  to  have  the  curtain  of  the  tenaille  a  straight 
line,  as  a  crooked  one,  —  he  might  be  said  to  have  thought  of 
nothing  else  but  poor  Le  Fever  and  his  boy  the  whole  time  he 
smoaked  it. 

CHAPTER   VII 

THE  STORY  OF   LE  FEVER  CONTINUED 

IT  was  not  till  my  uncle  Toby  had  knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his 
third  pipe,  that  corporal  Trim  returned  from  the  inn,  and 
gave  him  the  following  account. 

I  despaired,  at  first,  said  the  corporal,  of  being  able  to  bring 
back  your  honour  any  kind  of  intelligence  concerning  the  poor  sick 

lieutenant.  —  Is  he  in  the  army,  then  ?  said  my  uncle  Toby He 

is,  said  the  corporal And  in  what  regiment?  said  my  uncle 

Toby I'll  tell  your  honour,  replied  the  corporal,  every  thing 

straight  forwards,  as  I  learnt  it.  —  Then,  Trim,  I'll  fill  another 
pipe,  said  my  uncle  Toby,  and  not  interrupt  thee  till  thou  hast  done ; 
so  sit  down  at  thy  ease,  Trim,  in  the  window-seat,  and  begin  thy 
story  again.  The  corporal  made  his  old  bow,  which  generally 
spoke  as  plain  as  a  bow  could  speak  it  —  Your  honour  is  good: 

And  having  done  that,  he  sat  down,  as  he  was  ordered,  —  and 

begun  the  story  to  my  uncle  Toby  over  again  in  pretty  near  the 
same  words. 

I  despaired  at  first,  said  the  corporal,  of  being  able  to  bring  back 
any  intelligence  to  your  honour,  about  the  lieutenant  and  his  son; 
for  when  I  asked  where  his  servant  was,  from  whom  I  made  myself 

327 


THE   LIFE   AND    OPINIONS 

sure  of  knowing  every  thing  which  was  proper  to  be  asked, — 
That's  a  right  distinction,  Trim,  said  my  uncle  Toby —  I  was 
answered,  an'  please  your  honour,  that  he  had  no  servant  with  him; 

that  he  had  come  to  the  inn  with  hired  horses,  which,  upon 

finding  himself  unable  to  proceed  (to  join,  I  suppose,  the  regiment), 
he  had  dismissed  the  morning  after  he  came.  —  If  I  get  better,  my 
dear,  said  he,  as  he  gave  his  purse  to  his  son  to  pay  the  man,  —  we 

can  hire  horses  from  hence. But  alas !    the  poor  gentleman 

will  never  get  from  hence,  said  the  landlady  to  me,  —  for  I  heard 

the  death-watch  all  night  long; and  when  he  dies,  the  youth, 

his  son,  will  certainly  die  with  him;  for  he  is  broken-hearted  already. 

I  was  hearing  this  account,  continued  the  corporal,  when  the 
youth  came  into  the  kitchen,  to  order  the  thin  toast  the  landlord 

spoke  of ; but  I  will  do  it  for  my  father  myself,  said  the  youth. 

Pray  let  me  save  you  the  trouble,  young  gentleman,  said  I, 

taking  up  a  fork  for  the  purpose,  and  offering  him  my  chair  to  sit 

down  upon  by  the  fire,  whilst  I  did  it. 1  believe,  Sir,  said  he, 

very  modestly,  I  can  please  him  best  myself. 1  am  sure,  said  I, 

his  honour  will  not  like  the  toast  the  worse  for  being  toasted  by  an 

old  soldier. The  youth  took  hold  of  my  hand,  and  instantly 

burst  into  tears. Poor  youth !  said  my  uncle  Toby,  —  he  has 

been  bred  up  from  an  infant  in  the  army,  and  the  name  of  a  soldier 
Trim,  sounded  in  his  ears  like  the  name  of  a  friend ;  —  I  wish  I  had 
him  here. 

1  never,  in  the  longest  march,  said  the  corporal,  had  so 

great  a  mind  to  my  dinner,  as  I  had  to  cry  with  him  for  company:  — 
What  could  be  the  matter  with  me,  an'  please  your  honour  ?  Nothing 
in  the  world,  Trim,  said  my  uncle  Toby,  blowing  his  nose,  —  but 
that  thou  art  a  good-natured  fellow. 

When  I  gave  him  the  toast,  continued  the  corporal,  I  thought 
it  was  proper  to  tell  him  I  was  captain  Shandy's  servant,  and  that 
your  honour  (though  a  stranger)  was  extremely  concerned  for  his 
father ;  —  and  that  if  there  was  any  thing  in  your  house  or  cellar 

(And  thou  might 'st  have  added  my  purse  too,  said  my  uncle 

Toby) he  was  heartily  welcome  to  it : He  made  a  very 

low  bow  (which  was  meant  to  your  honour),  but  no  answer  —  for 
his  heart  was  full  —  so  he  went  up  stairs  with  the  toast ;  —  I  warrant 
you,  my  dear,  said  I,  as  I  opened  the  kitchen-door,  your  father  will 

be  well  again. Mr.  Yorick's  curate  was  smcaking  a  pipe  by 

the  kitchen  fire,  —  but  said  not  a  word  good  or  bad  to  comfort  the 

328 


OF   TRISTRAM    SHANDY 

youth. 1  thought  it  wrong;  added  the  corporal 1  think  so 

too,  said  my  uncle  Toby. 

When  the  lieutenant  had  taken  his  glass  of  sack  and  toast,  he 
felt  himself  a  little  revived,  and  sent  down  into  the  kitchen,  to  let 
me  know,  that  in  about  ten  minutes  he  should  be  glad  if  I  would 

step  up  stairs. 1  believe,  said  the  landlord,  he  is  going  to  say 

his  prayers, for  there  was  a  book  laid  upon  the  chair  by  his 

bedside,  and  as  I  shut  the  door,  I  saw  his  son  take  up  a  cushion. 

I  thought,  said  the  curate,  that  you  gentlemen  of  the  army,  Mr. 
Trim,  never  said  your  prayers  at  all. 1  heard  the  poor  gentle- 
man say  his  prayers  last  night,  said  the  landlady,  very  devoutly, 

and  with  my  own  ears,  or  I  could  not  have  believed  it. Are  you 

sure  of  it  ?  replied  the  curate. A  soldier,  an'  please  your 

reverence,  said  I,  prays  as  often  (of  his  own  accord)  as  a  parson ; 

and  when  he  is  fighting  for  his  king,  and  for  his  own  life,  and  for 
his  honour  too,  he  has  the  most  reason  to  pray  to  God  of  any  one 
in  the  whole  world.  — •—  'Twas  well  said  of  thee,  Trim,  said  my 
uncle  Toby. But  when  a  soldier,  said  I,  an'  please  your  rever- 
ence, has  been  standing  for  twelve  hours  together  in  the  trenches, 
up  to  his  knees  in  cold  water,  —  or  engaged,  said  I,  for  months 
together  in  long  and  dangerous  marches;  —  harassed,  perhaps,  in 
his  rear  to-day;  —  harassing  others  to-morrow;  —  detached  here; — 
countermanded  there;  —  resting  this  night  out  upon  his  arms;  — 
beat  up  in  his  shirt  the  next ;  —  benumbed  in  his  joints ;  —  perhaps 

without  straw  in  his  tent  to  kneel  on; must  say  his  prayers 

how  and  when  he  can.  —  I  believe,  said  I,  —  for  I  was  piqued, 
quoth  the  corporal,  for  the  reputation  of  the  army,  —  I  believe, 
an'  please  your  reverence,  said  I,  that  when  a  soldier  gets  time  to 
pray,  —  he  prays  as  heartily  as  a  parson,  —  though  not  with  all 

his  fuss  and  hypocrisy. Thou  shouldst  not  have  said  that, 

Trim,  said  my  uncle  Toby,  —  for  God  only  knows  who  is  a  hypo- 
crite, and  who  is  not: At  the  great  and  general  review  of  us 

all,  corporal,  at  the  day  of  judgment  (and  not  till  then)  —  it  will  be 
seen  who  has  done  their  duties  in  this  world,  —  and  who  has  not ; 

and  we  shall  be  advanced,  Trim,  accordingly. 1  hope  we  shall, 

said  Trim. It  is  in  the  Scripture,  said  my  uncle  Toby;  and  I 

will  shew  it  thee  to-morrow :  —  In  the  mean  time  we  may  depend 
upon  it,  Trim,  for  our  comfort,  said  my  uncle  Toby,  that  God 
Almighty  is  so  good  and  just  a  governor  of  the  world,  that  if  we 
have  but  done  our  duties  in  it,  —  it  will  never  be  enquired  into, 

329 


THE   LIFE   AND   OPINIONS 

whether  we  have  done  them  in  a  red  coat  or  a  black  one : 1 

hope  not,  said  the  corporal But  go  on,  Trim,  said  my  uncle 

Toby,  with  thy  story. 

When  I  went  up,  continued  the  corporal,  into  the  lieutenant's 
room,  which  I  did  not  do  till  the  expiration  of  the  ten  minutes,  — 
he  was  lying  in  his  bed  with  his  head  raised  upon  his  hand,  with  his 
elbow  upon  the  pillow,  and  a  clean  white  cambrick  handkerchief 

beside  it : The  youth  was  just  stooping  down  to  take  up  the 

cushion,  upon  which  I  supposed  he  had  been  kneeling,  —  the  book 
was  laid  upon  the  bed,  —  and,  as  he  rose,  in  taking  up  the  cushion 
with  one  hand,  he  reached  out  his  other  to  take  it  away  at  the  same 
time. Let  it  remain  there,  my  dear,  said  the  lieutenant. 

He  did  not  offer  to  speak  to  me,  till  I  had  walked  up  close  to  his 
bed-side:  —  If  you  are  captain  Shandy's  servant,  said  he,  you  must 
present  my  thanks  to  your  master,  with  my  little  boy's  thanks  along 
with  them,  for  his  courtesy  to  me ;  —  if  he  was  of  Leven's  —  said 
the  lieutenant.  —  I  told  him  your  honour  was.  —  Then,  said  he,  I 
served  three  campaigns  with  him  in  Flanders,  and  remember  him,  — 
but  'tis  most  likely,  as  I  had  not  the  honour  of  any  acquaintance 
with  him,  that  he  knows  nothing  of  me.  —  You  will  tell  him, 
however,  that  the  person  his  good-nature  has  laid  under  obligations 
to  him,  is  one  Le  Fever,  a  lieutenant  in  Angus' 's—  —but  he  knows 
me  not,  —  said  he,  a  second  time,  musing;—  -  possibly  he  may 
my  story  —  added  he  —  pray  tell  the  capiain  I  was  the  ensign  at 
Breda,  whose  wife  was  most  unfortunately  killed  with  a  musket- 
shot,  as  she  lay  in  my  arms  hi  my  tent. 1  remember  the  story 

an't  please  your  honour,  said  I,  very  well. Do  you  so  ?  said  he, 

wiping  his  eyes  with  his  handkerchief,  —  then  well  may  I.  —  In 
saying  this,  he  drew  a  little  ring  out  of  his  bosom,  which  seemed 
tied  with  a  black  ribband  about  his  neck,  and  kiss'd  it  twice  — 
Here,  Billy,  said  he, the  boy  flew  across  the  room  to  the  bed- 
side, —  and  falling  down  upon  his  knee,  took  the  ring  hi  his  hand, 
and  kissed  it  too,  —  then  kissed  his  father,  and  sat  down  upon  the 
bed  and  wept. 

I  wish,  said  my  uncle  Toby,  with  a  deep  sigh,  —  I  wish,  Trim, 
I  was  asleep. 

Your  honour,  replied  the  corporal,  is  too  much  concerned;  — 

shall  I  pour  your  honour  out  a  glass  of  sack  to  your  pipe  ? Do, 

Trim,  said  my  uncle  Toby. 

I  remember,  said  my  uncle  Toby,  sighing  again,  the  story  of  the 

330 


OF   TRISTRAM    SHANDY 

ensign  and  his  wife,  with  a  circumstance  his  modesty  omitted;  — 
and  particularly  well  that  he,  as  well  as  she,  upon  some  account 
or  other  (I  forget  what)  was  universally  pitied  by  the  whole  regi- 
ment ;  —  but  finish  the  story  thou  art  upon :  —  'Tis  finished  already, 
said  the  corporal,  —  for  I  could  stay  no  longer,  —  so  wished  his 
honour  a  good  night;  young  Le  Fever  rose  from  off  the  bed,  and 
saw  me  to  the  bottom  of  the  stairs;  and  as  we  went  down  together, 
told  me,  they  had  come  from  Ireland,  and  were  on  their  route  to 
join  the  regiment  in  Flanders.  —  —  But  alas!  said  the  corporal, — 
the  lieutenant's  last  day's  march  is  over.  —  Then  what  is  to  become 
of  his  poor  boy?  cried  my  uncle  Toby. 


CHAPTER  VHI 

THE  STORY  OF  LE  FEVER   CONTINUED 

IT  was  to  my  uncle  Toby's  eternal  honour, though  I  telJ 
it  only  for  the  sake  of  those,  who,  when  coop'd  in  betwixt 
a  natural  and  a  positive  law,  know  not,  for  their  souls,  which  way 
in  the  world  to  turn  themselves  —  -  That  notwithstanding  my 
uncle  Toby  was  warmly  engaged  at  that  time  in  carrying  on  the 
siege  of  Dendermond,  parallel  with  the  allies,  who  pressed  theirs 
on  so  vigorously,  that  they  scarce  allowed  him  time  to  get  his  dinner 

that  nevertheless  he  gave  up  Dendermond,  though  he  had 

already  made  a  lodgment  upon  the  counterscarp ;  —  and  bent  his 
whole  thoughts  towards  the  private  distresses  at  the  inn;  and  ex- 
cept that  he  ordered  the  garden  gate  to  be  bolted  up,  by  which 
he  might  be  said  to  have  turned  the  siege  of  Dendermond  into  a 
blockade,  —  he  left  Dendermond  to  itself  —  to  be  relieved  or  not 
by  the  French  king,  as  the  French  king  thought  good;  and  only 
considered  how  he  himself  should  relieve  the  poor  lieutenant  and 
his  son. 

That  kind  BEING,  who  is  a  friend  to  the  friendless,  shall 

recompence  thee  for  this. 

Thou  hast  left  this  matter  short,  said  my  uncle  Toby  to  the  cor- 
poral, as  he  was  putting  him  to  bed, and  I  will  tell  thee  in 

what,  Trim. In  the  first  place,  when  thou  madest  an  offer 

of  my  services  to  Le  Fever, as  sickness  and  travelling  are 

both  expensive,  and  thou  knowest  he  was  but  a  poor  lieutenant, 

331 


THE   LIFE   AND   OPINIONS 

with  a  son  to  subsist  as  well  as  himself  out  of  his  pay,  —  that  thou 
didst  not  make  an  offer  to  him  of  my  purse ;  because,  had  he  stood 
in  need,  thou  knowest,  Trim,  he  had  been  as  welcome  to  it  as  my- 
self.  Your  honour  knows,  said  the  corporal,  I  had  no  orders; 

True,  quoth  my  uncle  Toby,  —  thou  didst  very  right,  Trim, 

as  a  soldier,  —  but  certainly  very  wrong  as  a  man. 

In  the  second  place,  for  which,  indeed,  thou  hast  the  same  excuse, 

continued  my  uncle  Toby, when  thou  offeredst  him  whatever 

was  in  my  house, thou  shouldst  have  offered  him  my  house 

too: A  sick  brother  officer  should  have  the  best  quarters, 

Trim,  and  if  we  had  him  with  us,  —  we  could  tend  and  look  to 

him: Thou  art  an  excellent  nurse  thyself,  Trim,  —  and  what 

with  thy  care  of  him,  and  the  old  woman's,  and  his  boy's,  and  mine 
together,  we  might  recruit  him  again  at  once,  and  set  him  upon 
his  legs. 

In  a  fortnight  or  three  weeks,  added  my  uncle  Toby,  smiling, 

he  might  march. He  will  never  march;  an'  please  your 

honour,  in  this  world,  said  the  corporal: He  will  march;  said 

my  uncle  Toby,  rising  up  from  the  side  of  the  bed,  with  one  shoe 

off: An'  please  your  honour,  said  the  corporal,  he  will  never 

march  but  to  his  grave: He  shall  march,  cried  my  uncle  Toby, 

marching  the  foot  which  had  a  shoe  on,  though  without  advancing 

an  inch,  —  he  shall  march  to  his  regiment. He  cannot  stand 

it,  said  the  corporal; He  shall  be  supported,  said  my  uncle 

Toby ; He'll  drop  at  last,  said  the  corporal,  and  what  will 

become  of  his  boy  ? He  shall  not  drop,  said  my  uncle  Toby, 

firmly. A-well-o'day,  —  do  what  we  can  for  him,  said  Trim, 

maintaining  his  point  —  the  poor  soul  will  die: He  shall  not 

die,  by  G  — ,  cried  my  uncle  Toby. 

—  The  ACCUSING  SPIRIT,  which  flew  up  to  heaven's  chancery 
with  the  oath,  blush'd  as  he  gave  it  in ;  —  and  the  RECORDING  ANGEL, 
as  he  wrote  it  down,  dropp'd  a  tear  upon  the  word,  and  blotted  it 
out  for  ever. 


CHAPTER   IX 

MY  uncle   Toby  went  to  his  bureau,  —  put  his  purse  into 
his  breeches  pocket,  and  having  ordered  the  corporal  to  go 
early  in  the  morning  for  a  physician,  —  he  went  to  bed,  and  fell 
asleep. 

332 


OF   TRISTRAM    SHANDY 
CHAPTER   X 

THE  STORY  OF   LE   FEVER  CONTINUED 

THE  sun  looked  bright  the  morning  after,  to  every  eye  in  the 
village  but  Le  Fever's  and  his  afflicted  son's ;  the  hand  of  death 

press'd  heavy  upon  his  eyelids, and  hardly  could  the  wheel  at 

the  cistern  turn  round  its  circle,  —  when  my  uncle  Toby,  who  had 
rose  up  an  hour  before  his  wonted  time,  entered  the  lieutenant's 
room,  and  without  preface  or  apology,  sat  himself  down  upon  the 
chair  by  the  bed-side,  and  independently  of  all  modes  and  customs, 
opened  the  curtain  in  the  manner  an  old  friend  and  brother  officer 
would  have  done  it,  and  asked  him  how  he  did,  —  how  he  had 
rested  in  the  night,  —  what  was  his  complaint,  —  where  was  his 

pain,  —  and  what  he  could  do  to  help  him: and  without  giving 

him  time  to  answer  any  one  of  the  enquiries,  went  on,  and  told  him 
of  the  litttle  plan  which  he  had  been  concerting  with  the  corporal 
the  night  before  for  him. 

You  shall  go  home  directly,  Le  Fever ,said  my  uncle  Toby,  to 

my  house,  —  and  we'll  send  for  a  doctor  to  see  what's  the  matter, 
—  and  we'll  have  an  apothecary,  —  and  the  corporal  shall  be  your 
nurse ; and  I'll  be  your  servant,  Le  Fever. 

There  was  a  frankness  in  my  uncle  Toby,  —  not  the  effect  of  fami- 
liarity, —  but  the  cause  of  it,  —  which  let  you  at  once  into  his  soul, 
and  shewed  you  the  goodness  of  his  nature ;  to  this,  there  was  some- 
thing in  his  looks,  and  voice,  and  manner,  superadded,  which  eter- 
nally beckoned  to  the  unfortunate  to  come  and  take  shelter  under 
him;  so  that  before  my  uncle  Toby  had  half  finished  the  kind  offers 
he  was  making  to  the  father,  had  the  son  insensibly  pressed  up  close 
to  his  knees,  and  had  taken  hold  of  the  breast  of  his  coat,  and  was 

pulling  it  towards  him. The  blood  and  spirits  of  Le  Fever, 

which  were  waxing  cold  and  slow  within  him,  and  were  retreating 
to  their  last  citadel,  the  heart,  —  rallied  back,  —  the  film  forsook 
his  eyes  for  a  moment,  —  he  looked  up  wishfully  in  my  uncle  Toby's 

face,  —  then  cast  a  look  upon  his  boy, and  that  ligament,  fine 

as  it  was,  —  was  never  broken. 

Nature  instantly  ebb'd  again,  —  the  film  returned  to  its  place, 

the  pulse  fluttered stopp'd went  on throbb'd 

stopp'd  again moved stopp'd shall  I  go  on? 

No. 


333 


THE   LIFE   AND    OPINIONS 


CHAPTER   XI 

I  AM  so  impatient  to  return  to  my  own  story,  that  what  remains 
of  young  Le  Fever's,  that  is,  from  this  turn  of  his  fortune,  to 
the  time  my  uncle  Toby  recommended  him  for  my  preceptor,  shall 
be  told  in  a  very  few  words  in  the  next  chapter.  —  All  that  is  neces- 
sary to  be  added  to  this  chapter  is  as  follows.  — 

That  my  uncle  Toby,  with  young  Le  Fever  in  his  hand,  attended 
the  poor  lieutenant,  as  chief  mourners,  to  his  grave. 

.That  the  governor  of  Dendermond  paid  his  obsequies  all  military 
honours,  —  and  that  Yorick,  not  to  be  behind-hand  —  paid  him  all 
ecclesiastic  —  for  he  buried  him  in  his  chancel  :  —  And  it  appears 
likewise,  he  preached  a  funeral  sermon  over  him  —  —  I  say  it  ap- 
pears, —  for  it  was  Yorick'  s  custom,  which  I  suppose  a  general  one 
with  those  of  his  profession,  on  the  first  leaf  of  every  sermon  which 
he  composed,  to  chronicle  down  the  time,  the  place,  and  the  occasion 
of  its  being  preached  :  to  this,  he  was  ever  wont  to  add  some  short 
comment  or  stricture  upon  the  sermon  itself,  seldom,  indeed,  much 
to  its  credit:  —  For  instance,  This  sermon  upon  the  Jewish  dispen- 
sation —  I  don't  like  it  all;  —  Though  I  own  there  is  a  world  of 
WATER-LANDISH  knowledge  in  it,  —  but  'tis  all  tritical,  and  most 
tritically  put  together.  --  This  is  but  a  flimsy  kind  of  a  com- 
position; what  was  in  my  head  when  I  made  it  ? 

-  N.  B.     The  excellency  of  this  text  is,  that  it  will  suit  any  ser- 
mon, —  and  of  this  sermon,  -  that  it  will  suit  any  text.  — 

-  For  this  sermon  I  shall  be  hanged,  —  for  I  have  stolen  the 


greatest  part  of  it.     Doctor  Paidagunes  found  me  out.     ff2P  Set  a 
thief  to  catch  a  thief.  - 

On  the  back  of  half  a  dozen  I  find  written,  So,  so,  and  no  more 
and  upon  a  couple  Moderate;  by  which,  as  far  as  one  may 


gather  from  Altieri's  Italian  dictionary,  —  but  mostly  from  the  au- 
thority of  a  piece  of  green  whipcord,  which  seemed  to  have  been 
the  unravelling  of  Yorick's  whip-lash,  with  which  he  has  left  us 
the  two  sermons  marked  Moderato,  and  the  half  dozen  of  So,  so, 
tied  fast  together  in  one  bundle  by  themselves,  —  one  may  safely 
suppose  he  meant  pretty  near  the  same  thing. 

There  is  but  one  difficulty  in  the  way  of  this  conjecture,  which  is 
this,  that  the  moderate's  are  five  times  better  than  the  so,  so's;  — 
show  ten  times  more  knowledge  of  the  human  heart ;  —  have  seventy 
times  more  wit  and  spirit  in  them; —  (and,  to  rise  properly  in  my 

334 


OF   TRISTRAM   SHANDY 

climax) — discovered  a  thousand  times  more  genius;  —  and  to 
crown  all,  are  infinitely  more  entertaining  than  those  tied  up  with 
them:  —  for  which  reason,  whene'er  Yorick's  dramatic  sermons  are 
offered  to  the  world,  though  I  shall  admit  but  one  out  of  the  whole 
number  of  the  so,  so's,  I  shall,  nevertheless,  adventure  to  print  the 
two  moderate's  without  any  sort  of  scruple. 

What  Yorick  could  mean  by  the  words  lentamente, —  tenute, — 
grave,  —  and  sometimes  adagio,  —  as  applied  to  theological  compo- 
sitions, and  with  which  he  has  characterised  some  of  these  sermons, 

I  dare  not  venture  to  guess. 1  am  more  puzzled  still  upon 

rinding  a  I'octava  altal  upon  one; Con  strepito  upon  the  back 

of  another; Siciliana  upon  a  third; Alia,  capella  upon  a 

fourth ; Con  I'arco  upon  this ; Senza  I' aero  upon  that. 

All  I  know  is,  that  they  are  musical  terms,  and  have  a  meaning; 

and  as  he  was  a  musical  man,  I  will  make  no  doubt,  but  that  by 
some  quaint  application  of  such  metaphors  to  the  compositions  in 
hand,  they  impressed  very  distinct  ideas  of  their  several  characters 
upon  his  fancy,  —  whatever  they  may  do  upon  that  of  others. 

Amongst  these,  there  is  that  particular  sermon  which  has  unac- 
countably led  me  into  this  digression The  funeral  sermon 

upon  poor  Le  Fever,  wrote  out  very  fairly,  as  if  from  a  hasty  copy. — 
I  take  notice  of  it  the  more,  because  it  seems  to  have  been  his  fav- 
ourite composition  —  It  is  upon  mortality ;  and  is  tied  lengthways 
and  cross-ways  with  a  yarn  thrum,  and  then  rolled  up  and  twisted 
round  with  a  half-sheet  of  dirty  blue  paper,  which  seems  to  have 
been  onge.  the  cast  cover  of  a  general  review,  which  to  this  day 
smells  horribly  of  horse  drugs. Whether  these  marks  of  humil- 
iation were  designed,  —  I  something  doubt; because  at  the 

end  of  the  sermon  (and  not  at  the  beginning  of  it)  —  very  different 
from  his  way  of  treating  the  rest,  he  had  wrote 

Bravo! 

Though  not  very  offensively, for  it  is  at  two  inches,  at 

least,  and  a  half's  distance  from,  and  below  the  concluding  line  of 
the  sermon,  at  the  very  extremity  of  the  page,  and  in  the  right-hand 
corner  of  it,  which,  you  know,  is  generally  covered  with  your  thumb ; 
and,  to  do  it  justice,  it  is  wrote  besides  with  a  crow's  quill  so  faintly 
in  a  small  Italian  hand,  as  scarce  to  solicit  the  eye  towards  the  place, 
whether  your  thumb  is  there  or  not,  —  so  that  from  the  manner  of 
it,  it  stands  half  excused ;  and  being  wrote  moreover  with  very  pale 

335 


THE   LIFE  AND   OPINIONS 

ink,  diluted  almost  to  nothing,  —  'tis  more  like  a  ritratto  of  the 
shadow  of  vanity,  than  of  VANITY  herself  —  of  the  two;  resembling 
rather  a  faint  thought  of  transient  applause,  secretly  stirring  up 
in  the  heart  of  the  composer;  than  a  gross  mark  of  it,  coarsely 
obtruded  upon  the  world. 

With  all  these  extenuations,  I  am  aware,  that  in  publishing  this, 
I  do  no  service  to  Yorick's  character  as  a  modest  man ;  —  but  all 
men  have  their  failings!  and  what  lessens  this  still  farther,  and 
almost  wipes  it  away,  is  this;  that  the  word  was  struck  through 
sometime  afterwards  (as  appears  from  a  different  tint  of  the  ink) 

with  a  line  quite  across  it  in  this  manner,  BRAVO as  if  he 

had  retracted,  or  was  ashamed  of  the  opinion  he  had  once  enter- 
tained of  it. 

These  short  characters  of  his  sermons  were  always  written,  except- 
ing in  this  one  instance,  upon  the  first  leaf  of  his  sermon,  which 
served  as  a  cover  to  it ;  and  usually  upon  the  inside  of  it,  which  was 
turned  towards  the  text; —  but  at  the  end  of  his  discourse,  where, 
perhaps,  he  had  five  or  six  pages,  and  sometines,  perhaps,  a  whole 
score  to  turn  himself  in,  —  he  took  a  large  circuit,  and,  indeed,  a 
much  more  mettlesome  one;  —  as  if  he  had  snatched  the  occasion  of 
unlacing  himself  with  a  few  more  frolicksome  strokes  at  vice,  than 
the  straightness  of  the  pulpit  allowed.  —  These,  though  hussard-like, 
they  skirmish  lightly  and  out  of  all  order,  are  still  auxiliaries  on 
the  side  of  virtue; — \te\l  me  then,  Mynheer  Vander  Blonederdonder- 
gewdenstronke,  why  they  should  not  be  printed  together  ? 

CHAPTER  XII 

WHEN  my  uncle  Toby  had  turned  every  thing  into  money,  and 
settled  all  accounts  betwixt  the  agent  of  the  regiment  and 

Le  Fever,   and  betwixt  Le  Fever  and   all  mankind, there 

remained  nothing  more  in  my  uncle  Toby's  hands,  than  an  old  regi- 
mental coat  and  a  sword ;  so  that  my  uncle  Toby  found  little  or  no 
opposition  from  the  world  in  taking  administration.  The  coat  my 

uncle  Toby  gave  the  corporal; Wear  it,  Trim,  said  my  uncle 

Toby,  as  long  as  it  will  hold  together,  for  the  sake  of  the  poor  lieuten- 
ant   And  this, said  my  uncle  Toby,  taking  up  the  sword  in 

his  hand,  and  drawing  it  out  of  the  scabbard  as  he  spoke  — 
and  this,  Le  Fever,  I'll  save  for  thee,  —  'tis  all  the  fortune,  continued 
my  uncle  Toby,  hanging  it  up  upon  a  crook,  and  pointing  to  it,  —  'tis 

336 


OF   TRISTRAM    SHANDY 

all  the  fortune,  my  dea*  Le  Fever,  which  God  has  left  thee;  but  if 
he  has  given  thee  a  heart  to  fight  thy  way  with  it  hi  the  world,  — 
and  thou  doest  it  like  a  man  of  honour,  —  'tis  enough  for  us. 

As  soon  as  my  uncle  Toby  had  laid  a  foundation,  and  taught 
him  to  inscribe  a  regular  polygon  hi  a  circle,  he  sent  him  to  a  public 
school,  where,  excepting  Whitsontide  and  Christmas,  at  which 
times  the  corporal  was  punctually  dispatched  for  him,  —  he 
remained  to  the  spring  of  the  year,  seventeen;  when  the  stories  of 
the  emperor's  sending  his  army  into  Hungary  against  the  Turks, 
kindling  a  spark  of  fire  in  his  bosom,  he  left  his  Greek  and  Latin 
without  leave,  and  throwing  himself  upon  his  knees  before  my 
uncle  Toby,  begged  his  father's  sword,  and  my  uncle  Toby's  leave 
along  with  it,  to  go  and  try  his  fortune  under  Eugene.  —  Twice 
did  my  uncle  Toby  forget  his  wound  and  cry  out,  Le  Fever  1 1  will 

go  with  thee,  and  thou  shalt  fight  beside  me And  twice  he 

laid  his  hand  upon  his  groin,  and  hung  down  his  head  in  sorrow 
and  disconsolation. 

My  uncle  Toby  took  down  the  sword  from  the  crook,  where  it 
had  hung  untouched  ever  since  the  lieutenant's  death,  and  delivered 

it  to  the  corporal  to  brighten  up; and  having  detained  Le  Fever 

a  single  fortnight  to  equip  him,  and  contract  for  his  passage  to 

Leghorn,  —  he  put  the  sword  into  his  hand. If  thou  art  brave, 

Le  Fever,  said  my  uncle  Toby,  this  will  not  fail  thee, but 

Fortune,  said  he  (musing  a  little), Fortune  may And  if 

she  does,  —  added  my  uncle  Toby,  embracing  him,  come  back 
again  to  me,  Le  Fever,  and  we  will  shape  thee  another  course. 

The  greatest  injury  could  not  have  oppressed  the  heart  of 
Le  Fever  more  than  my  uncle  Toby's  paternal  kindness;  —  he 
parted  from  my  uncle  Toby,  as  the  best  of  sons  from  the  best  of 

fathers  —  —  both  dropped  tears and  as  my  uncle  Toby  gave 

him  his  last  kiss,  he  slipped  sixty  guineas,  tied  up  hi  an  old  purse 
of  his  father's,  in  which  was  his  mother's  ring,  into  his  hand,  —  and 
bid  God  bless  him. 

CHAPTER  Xin 

LE  FEVER  got  up  to  the  Imperial  army  just  time  enough  to 
try  what  metal  his  sword  was  made  of,  at  the  defeat  of  the 
Turks  before  Belgrade;  but  a  series  of  unmerited  mischances  had 
pursued  him  from  that  moment,  and  trod  close  upon  his  heels  for 

337 


LIFE    OF   TRISTRAM    SHANDY 

four  years  together  after;  he  had  withstood  these  buffetings  to 
the  last,  till  sickness  overtook  him  at  Marseilles,  from  whence  he 
wrote  my  uncle  Toby  word,  he  had  lost  his  time,  his  services,  his 

health,  and,  in  short,  every  thing  but  his  sword; and  was 

waiting  for  the  first  ship  to  return  back  to  him. 

As  his  letter  came  to  hand  about  six  weeks  before  Susannah's 
accident,  Le  Fever  was  hourly  expected;  and  was  uppermost  in  my 
uncle  Toby's  mind  all  the  time  my  father  was  giving  him  and 
Yorick  a  description  of  what  kind  of  a  person  he  would  chuse  for  a 
preceptor  to  me :  but  as  my  uncle  Toby  thought  my  father  at  first 
somewhat  fanciful  in  the  accomplishments  he  required,  he  forebore 

mentioning  Le  Fever's  name, till  the  character,  by  Yorick' s 

interposition,  ending  unexpectedly,  in  one,  who  should  be  gentle- 
tempered,  and  generous,  and  good,  it  impressed  the  image  of 
Le  Fever,  and  his  interest,  upon  my  uncle  Toby  so  forcibly,  he  rose 
instantly  off  his  chair;  and  laying  down  his  pipe,  in  order  to  take 
hold  of  both  my  father's  hands  —  I  beg,  brother  Shandy,  said  my 
uncle  Toby,  I  may  recommend  poor  Le  Fever's  son  to  you  —  —  I 

beseech  you  do,  added  Yorick He  has  a  good  heart,  said  my 

uncle  Toby And  a  brave  one  too,  an'  please  your  honour,  said 

the  corporal. 

The  best  hearts,  Trim,  are  ever  the  bravest,  replied  my 

uncle  Toby. And  the  greatest  cowards,  an'  please  your  honour, 

hi  our  regiment,  were  the  greatest  rascals  hi  it. There  was 

sergeant  Kumber,  and  ensign 


We'll  talk  of  them,  said  my  father,  another  time. 


338 


SAUNTERINGS  IN   FRANCE 


BOOK  VII 

CHAPTER  I 

NO 1  think,  I  said,  I  would  write  two  volumes  every  year, 
provided  the  vile  cough  which  then  tormented  me,  and  which 
to  this  hour  I  dread  worse  than  the  devil,  would  but  give  me  leave  — 
and  in  another  place  —  (but  where,  I  can't  recollect  now)  speaking 
of  my  book  at  a  machine,  and  laying  my  pen  and  ruler  down  cross- 
wise upon  the  table,  in  order  to  gain  the  greater  credit  to  it  —  I 
swore  it  should  be  kept  a  going  at  that  rate  these  forty  years,  if  it 
pleased  but  the  fountain  of  life  to  bless  me  so  long  with  health  and 
good  spirits. 

Now  as  for  my  spirits,  little  have  I  to  lay  to  their  charge  —  nay 
so  very  little  (unless  the  mounting  me  upon  a  long  stick  and  playing 
the  fool  with  me  nineteen  hours  out  of  the  twenty-four,  be  accusa- 
tions) that  on  the  contrary,  I  have  much  —  much  to  thank  'em  for: 
cheerily  have  ye  made  me  tread  the  path  of  life  with  all  the  burthens 
of  it  (except  its  cares)  upon  my  back;  in  no  one  moment  of  my  exist- 
ence,that  I  remember,  have  ye  once  deserted  me,  or  tinged  the  objects 
which  came  in  my  way,  either  with  sable,  or  with  a  sickly  green; 
in  dangers  ye  gilded  my  horizon  with  hope,  and  when  DEATH 
himself  knocked  at  my  door  —  ye  bad  him  come  again ;  and  in  so 
gay  a  tone  of  careless  indifference,  did  ye  do  it,  that  he  doubted  of 
his  commission 

"  —  There  must  certainly  be  some  mistake  in  this  matter," 
quoth  he. 

Now  there  is  nothing  in  this  world  I  abominate  worse,  than  to  be 

interrupted  in  a  story and  I  was  that  moment  telling  Eugenius 

a  most  tawdry  one  in  my  way,  of  a  nun  who  fancied  herself  a  shell- 

339 


THE   LIFE  AND   OPINIONS 

fish,  and  of  a  monk  damn'd  for  eating  a  muscle,  and  was  shewing 
him  the  grounds  and  justice  of  the  procedure. 

" — Did  ever  so  grave  a  personage  get  into  so  vile  a  scrape?" 
quoth  Death.  Thou  hast  had  a  narrow  escape,  Tristram,  said 
Eugenius,  taking  hold  of  my  hand  as  I  finished  my  story. 

But  there  is  no  living,  Eugenius,  replied  I,  at  this  rate;  for  as  this 
son  of  a  whore  has  found  out  my  lodgings 

—  You  call  him  rightly,  said  Eugenius,  —  for  by  sin,  we  are  told, 

he  enter'd  the  world 1  care  not  which  way  he  enter'd,  quoth 

I,  provided  he  be  not  in  such  a  hurry  to  take  me  out  with  him  — 
for  I  have  forty  volumes  to  write,  and  forty  thousand  things  to  say 
and  do  which  no  body  in  the  world  will  say  and  do  for  me,  except 
thyself;  and  as  thou  seest  he  has  got  me  by  the  throat  (for  Eugenius 
could  scarce  hear  me  speak  across  the  table),  and  that  I  am  no 
match  for  him  in  the  open  field,  had  I  not  better,  whilst  these  few 
scatter'd  spirits  remain,  and  these  two  spider  legs  of  mine  (holding 
one  of  them  up  to  him)  are  able  to  support  me  —  had  I  not  better, 
Eugenius,  fly  for  my  life  ?    'Tis  my  advice,  my  dear  Tristram,  said 
Eugenius,  —  Then  by  heaven!    I  will  lead  him  a  dance  he  little 
thinks  of for  I  will  gallop,  quoth  I,  without  looking  once  be- 
hind me,  to  the  banks  of  the  Garonne;  and  if  I  hear  him  clattering 

at  my  heels I'll  scamper  away  to  mount  Vesuvius—  —from 

thence  to  Jappa,  and  from  Jap  pa  to  the  world's  end;  where,  if  he 
follows  me,  I  pray  God  he  may  break  his  neck 

—  He  runs  more  risk  there,  said  Eugenius,  than  thou. 
Eugenius's  wit  and  affection  brought  blood  into  the  cheek  from 

whence  it  had  been  some  months  banish'd 'twas  a  vile  moment 

to  bid  adieu  in ;  he  led  me  to  my  chaise Allans!  said  I ;  the  post- 
boy gave  a  crack  with  his  whip  —  —  off  I  went  like  a  cannon,  and 
in  half  a  dozen  bounds  got  into  Dover. 

CHAPTER  II 

NOW  hang  it!  quoth  I,  as  I  look'd  towards  the  French  coast  — 
a  man  should  know  something  of  his  own  country  too,  before 

he  goes  abroad and  I  never  gave  a  peep  into  Rochester  church, 

or  took  notice  of  the  dock  of  Chatham,  or  visited  St.  Thomas  at 
Canterbury,  though  they  all  three  laid  in  my  way 

—  But  mine,  indeed,  is  a  particular  case 

So  without  arguing  the  matter  further  with  Thomas  o'  Becket, 

340 


OF   TRISTRAM  SHANDY 

or  any  one  else  —  I  skip'd  into  the  boat,  and  in  five  minutes  we 
got  under  sail,  and  scudded  away  like  the  wind. 

Pray,  captain,  quoth  I,  as  I  was  going  down  into  the  cabin,  is  a 
man  never  overtaken  by  Death  in  this  passage? 

Why,  there  is  not  time  for  a  man  to  be  sick  in  it,  replied  he 

What  a  cursed  lyar!  for  I  am  sick  as  a  horse,  quoth  I,  already 

—  what  a  brain! upside  down! hey-day!  the  cells  are 

broke  loose  one  into  another,  and  the  blood,  and  the  lymph,  and 
the  nervous  juices,  with  the  fix'd  and  volatile  salts,  are  all  jumbled 

into  one  mass good  G — !  every  thing  turns  round  in  it  like  a 

thousand  whirlpools I'd  give  a  shilling  to  know  if  I  shan't 

write  the  clearer  for  it 


Sick!  sick!  sick!  sick! 


—  When  shall  we  get  to  land  ?  captain  —  they  have  hearts  like 

stones O  I  am  deadly  sick! reach  me  that  thing,  boy 

'tis  the  most  discomfiting  sickness 1  wish  I  was  at  the  bottom 

—  Madam!  how  is  it  with  you?  Undone!  undone!  un O! 

undone!  sir What  the  first  time? No,  'tis  the  second, 

third,  sixth,  tenth  time,  sir, hey-day!  —  what  a  trampling 

over  head!  —  hollo!  cabin  boy!  what's  the  matter?  — 

The  wind  chopp'd  about!  s' Death!  —  then  I  shall  meet  him  full 
in  the  face. 

What  luck!  —  'tis  chopp'd  about  again,  master O  the  devil 

chop  it 

Captain,  quoth  she,  for  heaven's  sake,  let  us  get  ashore. 


CHAPTER  HI 

IT  is  a  great  inconvenience  to  a  man  in  a  haste,  that  there  are 
three  distinct  roads  between  Calais  and  Paris,  in  behalf  of 
which  there  is  so  much  to  be  said  by  the  several  deputies  from  the 
towns  which  lie  along  them,  that  half  a  day  is  easily  lost  in  settling 
which  you'll  take. 

First,  the  road  by  Lisle  and  Arras,  which  is  the  most  about 

but  most  interesting,  and  instructing. 

The  second,  that  by  Amiens,  which  you  may  go,  if  you  would 
see  Chantilly 

And  that  by  Beauvais,  which  you  may  go,  if  you  will. 

For  this  reason  a  great  many  chuse  to  go  by  Beauvais, 

341 


THE   LIFE  AND   OPINIONS 

CHAPTER  IV 

"  "VTOWbefore  I  quit  Calais"  a  travel-  writer  would  say,  "it  would 
.L^l  not  be  amiss  to  give  some  account  of  it."  —  Now  I  think  it 
very  much  amiss  —  that  a  man  cannot  go  quietly  through  a  town, 
and  let  it  alone,  when  it  does  not  meddle  with  him,  but  that  he  must 
be  turning  about  and  drawing  his  pen  at  every  kennel  he  crosses 
over,  merely  o'  my  conscience  for  the  sake  of  drawing  it;  because, 
if  we  may  judge  from  what  has  been  wrote  of  these  things,  by  all 
who  have  wrote  and  gallop 'd  —  or  who  have  gallop'd  and  -wrote, 
which  is  a  different  way  still ;  or  who,  for  more  expedition  than  the 
rest,  have  wrote  galloping,  which  is  the  way  I  do  at  present  — 
from  the  great  Addison,  who  did  it  with  his  satchel  of  school  books 
hanging  at  his  a  — ,  and  galling  his  beast's  crupper  at  every  stroke 
—  there  is  not  a  galloper  of  us  all  who  might  not  have  gone  on  am- 
bling quietly  in  his  own  ground  (in  case  he  had  any),  and  have  wrote 
all  he  had  to  write,  dryshod,  as  well  as  not. 

For  my  own  part,  as  heaven  is  my  judge,  and  to  which  I  shall  ever 
make  my  last  appeal  —  I  know  no  more  of  Calais  (except  the  little 
my  barber  told  me  of  it  as  he  was  whetting  his  razor),  than  I  do  this 
moment  of  Grand  Cairo;  for  it  was  dusky  in  the  evening  when  I 
landed,  and  dark  as  pitch  in  the  morning  when  I  set  out,  and  yet  by 
merely  knowing  what  is  what,  and  by  drawing  this  from  that  in  one 
part  of  the  town,  and  by  spelling  and  putting  this  and  that  together 
in  another  —  I  would  lay  any  travelling  odds,  that  I  this  moment 
write  a  chapter  upon  Calais  as  long  as  my  arm ;  and  with  so  distinct 
and  satisfactory  a  detail  of  every  item,  which  is  worth  a  stranger's 
curiosity  in  the  town  —  that  you  would  take  me  for  the  town-clerk 
of  Calais  itself  —  and  where,  sir,  would  be  the  wonder?  was  not 
Democritus,  who  laughed  ten  times  more  than  I  —  town-clerk  of 
Abdera?  and  was  not  (I  forget  his  name)  who  had  more  discretion 

than  us  both,  town-clerk  of  Ephesus? it  should  be  penn'd 

moreover,  sir,  with  so  much  knowledge  and  good  sense,  and  truth, 

and  precision 

—  Nay  —  if  you  don't  believe  me,  you  may  read  the  chapter  for 
your  pains. 


342 


OF   TRISTRAM    SHANDY 


CHAPTER   V 

CALAIS,  Calatium,  Calusium,  Calesium 
This  town,  if  we  may  trust  its  archives,  the  authority  of  which 
I  see  no  reason  to  call  in  question  in  this  place  —  was  once  no  more 
than  a  small  village  belonging  to  one  of  the  first  Counts  de  Guignes; 
and  as  it  boasts  at  present  of  no  less  than  fourteen  thousand  inhabi- 
tants, exclusive  of  four  hundred  and  twenty  distinct  families  in  the 

basse  ville,  or  suburbs it  must  have  grown  up  by  little  and  little, 

I  suppose,  to  its  present  size. 

Though  there  are  four  convents,  there  is  but  one  parochial  church 
in  the  whole  town;  I  had  not  an  opportunity  of  taking  its  exact 
dimensions,  but  it  is  pretty  easy  to  make  a  tolerable  conjecture  of  'em 

—  for  as  there  are  fourteen  thousand  inhabitants  in  the  town,  if 
the  church  holds  them  all  it  must  be  considerably  large  —  and  if  it 
will  not  —  'tis  a  very  great  pity  they  have  not  another  —  it  is  built 
in  form  of  a  cross,  and  dedicated  to  the  Virgin  Mary;  the  steeple, 
which  has  a  spire  to  it,  is  placed  hi  the  middle  of  the  church,  and 
stands  upon  four  pillars  elegant  and  light  enough,  but  sufficiently 
strong  at  the  same  time  —  it  is  decorated  with  eleven  altars,  most  of 
which  are  rather  fine  than  beautiful.  The  great  altar  is  a  masterpiece 
in  its  kind ;  'tis  of  white  marble,  and,  as  I  was  told,  near  sixty  feet  high 

—  had  it  been  much  higher,  it  had  been  as  high  as  mount  Calvary  it- 
self —  therefore,  I  suppose  it  must  be  high  enough  in  all  conscience. 

There  was  nothing  struck  me  more  than  the  great  Square;  tho' 
I  cannot  say  'tis  either  well  paved  or  well  built ;  but  'tis  in  the  heart 
of  the  town,  and  most  of  the  streets,  especially  those  in  that  quarter, 
all  terminate  in  it;  could  there  have  been  a  fountain  in  all  Calais, 
which  it  seems  there  cannot,  as  such  an  object  would  have  been  a 
great  ornament,  it  is  not  to  be  doubted,  but  that  the  inhabitants 
would  have  had  it  in  the  very  centre  of  this  square,  —  not  that  it  is 
properly  a  square,  —  because  'tis  forty  feet  longer  from  east  to 
west,  than  from  north  to  south;  so  that  the  French  in  general  have 
more  reason  on  their  side  in  calling  them  Places  than  Squares, 
which,  strictly  speaking,  to  be  sure,  they  are  not. 

The  town-house  seems  to  be  but  a  sorry  building,  and  not  to  be 
kept  hi  the  best  repair ;  otherwise  it  had  been  a  second  great  orna- 
ment to  this  place ;  it  answers  however  its  destination,  and  serves  very 
well  for  the  reception  of  the  magistrates,  who  assemble  in  it  from 
time  to  time;  so  that  'tis  presumable,  justice  is  regularly  distributed. 

343 


THE   LIFE   AND   OPINIONS 

I  have  heard  much  of  it,  but  there  is  nothing  at  all  curious  in 
the  C 'our gain;  'tis  a  distinct  quarter  of  the  town,  inhabited  solely  by 
sailors  and  fishermen ;  it  consists  of  a  number  of  small  streets,  neatly 
built  and  mostly  of  brick;  'tis  extremely  populous,  but  as  that  may 
be  accounted  for,  from  the  principles  of  then-  diet,  —  there  is  nothing 

curious  hi  that  neither. A  traveller  may  see  it  to  satisfy  himself 

—  he  must  not  omit  however  taking  notice  of  La  Tour  de  Guet, 
upon  any  account;  'tis  so  called  from  its  particular  destination, 
because  in  war  it  serves  to  discover  and  give  notice  of  the  enemies 

which  approach  the  place,  either  by  sea  or  land; but  'tis 

monstrous  high,  and  catches  the  eye  so  continually,  you  cannot 
avoid  taking  notice  of  it  if  you  would. 

It  was  a  singular  disappointment  to  me,  that  I  could  not  have 
permission  to  take  an  exact  survey  of  the  fortifications,  which  are 
the  strongest  in  the  world,  and  which,  from  first  to  last,  that  is, 
from  the  time  they  were  set  about  by  Philip  of  France,  Count  of 
Boulogne,  to  the  present  war,  wherein  many  reparations  were  made, 
have  cost  (as  I  leaned  afterwards  from  an  engineer  in  Gascony)  — 
above  a  hundred  millions  of  livres.  It  is  very  remarkable,  that  at 
the  Tete  de  Gravelenes,  and  where  the  town  is  naturally  the  weakest, 
they  have  expended  the  most  money;  so  that  the  outworks  stretch 
a  great  way  into  the  campaign,  and  consequently  occupy  a  large 
tract  of  ground  —  However,  after  all  that  is  said  and  done,  it  must 
be  acknowledged  that  Calais  was  never  upon  any  account  so  con- 
siderable from  itself,  as  from  its  situation,  and  that  easy  entrance 
which  it  gave  our  ancestors,  upon  all  occasions,  into  France:  it  was 
not  without  its  conveniences  also;  being  no  less  troublesome  to  the 
English  in  those  times,  than  Dumkirk  has  been  to  us,  in  ours;  so 
that  it  was  deservedly  looked  upon  as  the  key  to  both  kingdoms, 
which  no  doubt  is  the  reason  that  there  have  arisen  so  many  conten- 
tions who  should  keep  it:  of  these,  the  siege  of  Calais,  or  rather  the 
blockade  (for  it  was  shut  up  both  by  land  and  sea),  was  the  most 
memorable,  as  it  withstood  the  efforts  of  Ed-ward  the  Third  a  whole 
year,  and  wasnot  terminated  at  last  but  by  famine  and  extreme  misery; 
the  gallantry  of  Eustace  de  St.  Pierre,  who  first  offered  himself  a 
victim  for  his  fellow-citizens,  has  rank'd  his  name  with  heroes.  As 
it  will  not  take  up  above  fifty  pages,  it  would  be  injustice  to  the 
reader,  not  to  give  him  a  minute  account  of  that  romantic  transac- 
tion, as  well  as  of  the  siege  itself,  in  Rapin's  own  words: 


344 


B 


OF   TRISTRAM    SHANDY 

CHAPTER  VI 

!UT  courage!    gentle    reader! I  scorn  it 'tis 

enough  to  have   thee  in  my  power but  to  make 

use  of  the  advantage  which  the  fortune  of  the  pen  has  now  gained 

over  thee,  would  be  too  much No !  by  that  all-powerful 

fire  which  warms  the  visionary  brain,  and  lights  the  spirits  through 
unworldly  tracts!  ere  I  would  force  a  helpless  creature  upon  this 
hard  service,  and  make  thee  pay,  poor  soul!  for  fifty  pages,  which 

I  have  no  right  to  sell  thee, naked  as  I  am,  I  would  browse 

upon  the  mountains,  and  smile  that  the  north  wind  brought  me 
neither  my  tent  or  my  supper. 

—  So  put  on,  my  brave  boy!  and  make  the  best  of  thy  way  to 
Boulogne. 


B 


CHAPTER  VH 

OULOGNE! hah! so  we  are  all  got  together 

—  debtors  and  sinners  before  heaven;  a  jolly  set  of 
us  —  but  I  can't  stay  and  quaff  it  off  with  you  —  I'm  pursued 
myself  like  a  hundred  devils,  and  shall  be  overtaken,  before  I  can 

well  change  horses: for  heaven's  sake,  make  haste 'Tis 

for  high-treason,  quoth  a  very  little  man,  whispering  as  low  as  he 

could  to  a  very  tall  man,  that  stood  next  him Or  else  for 

murder;  quoth  the  tall  man Well  thrown,  Size-ace   quoth  I. 

No;  quoth  a  third,  the  gentleman  has  been  committing 

Ah!  ma  chere  fillet  said  I,  as  she  tripp'd  by  from  her  matins  — 
you  look  as  rosy  as  the  morning  (for  the  sun  was  rising,  and  it  made 
the  compliment  the  more  gracious)  —  No;  it  can't  be  that,  quoth 

a  fourth (she  made  a  curt'sy  to  me  —  I  kiss'd  my  hand)  'tis 

debt,  continued  he:  'Tis  certainly  for  debt;  quoth  a  fifth;  I  would 
not  pay  that  gentleman's  debts,  quoth  Ace,  for  a  thousand  pounds; 
nor  would  I,  quoth  Size,  for  six  times  the  sum  —  Well  thrown, 
Size-ace,  again!  quoth  I;  —  but  I  have  no  debt  but  the  debt  of 
NATURE,  and  I  want  but  patience  of  her,  and  I  will  pay  her  every 

farthing  I  owe  her How  can  you  be  so  hard-hearted,  MADAM, 

to  arrest  a  poor  traveller  going  along  without  molestation  to  any  one 
upon  his  lawful  occasions  ?  do  stop  that  death-looking,  long-strid- 
ing scoundrel  of  a  scare-sinner,  who  is  posting  after  me  —  he  never 
would  have  followed  me  but  for  you if  it  be  but  for  a  stage  or 

345 


THE   LIFE   AND   OPINIONS 

two,  just  to  give  me  start  of  him,  I  beseech  you,  madam do, 

dear  lady 

Now,  in  troth,  'tis  a  great  pity,  quoth  mine  Irish  host,  that 

all  this  good  courtship  should  be  lost ;  for  the  young  gentlewoman 
has  been  after  going  out  of  hearing  of  it  all  along. 

Simpleton !  quoth  I. 


So  you  have  nothing  else  in  Boulogne  worth  seeing  ? 

—  By  Jasus!  there  is  the  finest  SEMINARY  for  the  HUMANI- 
TIES  

—  There  cannot  be  a  finer;  quoth  I. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

WHEN  the  precipitancy  of  a  man's  wishes  hurries  on  his  ideas 
ninety  times  faster  than  the  vehicle  he  rides  in woe  be  to 

truth:  and  woe  be  to  the  vehicle  and  its  tackling  (let  'em  be  made 
of  what  stuff  you  will)  upon  which  he  breathes  forth  the  disapp  int- 
ment  of  his  soul! 

As  I  never  give  general  characters  either  of  men  or  things  in 
choler,  "the  most  haste  the  worst  speed,"  was  all  the  reflection  I 
made  upon  the  affair,  the  first  time  it  happen 'd;  —  the  second, 
third,  fourth,  and  fifth  time,  I  confined  it  respectively  to  those 
times,  and  accordingly  blamed  only  the  second,  third,  fourth,  and 
fifth  post-boy  for  it,  without  carrying  my  reflections  further;  but 
the  event  continuing  to  befal  me  from  the  fifth,  to  the  sixth,  seventh, 
eighth,  ninth,  and  tenth  time,  and  without  one  exception,  I  then 
could  not  avoid  making  a  national  reflection  of  it,  which  I  do  in 
these  words; 

That  something  is  always  wrong  in  a  French  post-chaise,  upon 
first  setting  out. 

Or  the  proposition  may  stand  thus: 

A  French  postilion  has  always  to  alight  before  he  has  got  three 
hundred  yards  out  of  town. 

What's  wrong  now  ? Diable ! a  rope's  broke ! a 

knot  has  slipt! a  staple's  drawn! a  bolt's  to  whittle!  — 

a  tag,  a  rag,  a  jag,  a  strap,  a  buckle,  or  a  buckle's  tongue,  want 
altering. 

Now  true  as  all  this  is,  I  never  think  myself  impowered  to  excom- 
municate thereupon  either  the  post-chaise,  or  its  driver nor  do 

346 


OF   TRISTRAM    SHANDY 

I  take  it  into  my  head  to  swear  by  the  living  G — ,  I  would  rather 

go  a-foot  ten  thousand  times or  that  I  will  be  damn'd,  if  ever 

I  get  into  another but  I  take  the  matter  cooly  before  me, 

and  consider,  that  some  tag,  or  rag,  or  jag,  or  bolt,  or  buckle,  or 
buckle's  tongue,  will  ever  be  a  wanting,  or  want  altering,  travel 
where  I  will  —  so  I  never  chaff,  but  take  the  good  and  the  bad  as 

they  fall  in  my  road,  and  get  on: Do  so,  my  lad!  said  I;  he  had 

lost  five  minutes  already,  in  alighting  in  order  to  get  at  a  luncheon 
of  black  bread,  which  he  had  cramm'd  into  the  chaise -pocket,  and 

was  remounted  and  going  le is  rely  on,  to  relish  it  the  better 

Get  on,  my  lad,  said  I,  briskly  —  but  in  the  most  persuasive  tone 
imaginable,  for  I  ingled  a  four-and-twenty  sous  piece  against  the 
glass,  taking  care  to  hold  the  flat  side  towards  him,  as  he  look'd 
back:  the  dog  grinn'd  intelligence  from  his  right  ear  to  his  left, 
and  behind  his  sooty  muzzle  discovered  such  a  pearly  row  of  teeth 
that  Soverei  nty  would  have  pawn  'd  her  jewels  for  them. 

.   (  What  masticators! 
Just  heaven  !  \  ,,T,    .  .        , . 

(  What  bread !  — 

and  so  as  he  finished  the  last  mouthful  of  it,  we  entered  the  town 
of  MontreuU. 

CHAPTER  IX 

THERE  is  not  a  town  in  all  France,  which,  in  my  opinion, 
looks  better  in  the  map,  than  MONTREUIL: 1  own,  it 

does  not  look  so  well  in  the  book  of  post -roads ;  but  when  you  come 
to  see  it  —  to  be  sure  it  looks  most  pitifully. 

There  is  one  thing,  however,  in  it  at  present  very  handsome; 
and  that  is,  the  inn-keeper's  daughter:  She  has  been  eighteen  months 
at  Amiens,  and  six  at  Paris,  in  going  through  her  classes;  so  knits, 
and  sews,  and  dances,  and  does  the  little  coquetries  very  well. 

—  A  slut !  in  running  them  over  within  these  five  minutes  that  I 
have  stood  looking  at  her,  she  has  let  fall  at  least  a  dozen  loops  in 

a  white  thread  stocking yes,  yes  —  I  see,  you  cunning  gipsy!  — 

'tis  l^ng  and  taper  —  you  need  not  pin  it  to  your  knee  —  and  that 
'tis  your  own  —  and  fits  you  exactly. 

That  Nature  should  have  told  this  creature  a  word  about  a 

statue's  thumb  1 

—  But  as  this  sample  is  worth  all  their  thumbs besides,  I  have 

her  thumbs  and  fingers  in  at  the  bargain,  if  they  can  be  any  guide  to 

347 


THE   LIFE   AND    OPINIONS 

me,  —  and  as  Janatone  withal  (for  that  is  her  name)  stands  so  well 

for  a  drawing may  I  never  draw  more,  or  rather  may  I  draw 

like  a  draught -horse,  by  main  strength  all  the  days  of  my  life,  —  if 
I  do  not  draw  her  in  all  her  proportions,  and  with  as  determined  a 
pencil,  as  if  I  had  her  in  the  wettest  drapery. 

—  But  your  worships  chuse  rather  that  I  give  you  the  length, 
breadth,  and  perpendicular  height  of  the  great  parish-church,  or 
drawing  of  the  facade  of  the  abbey  of  Saint  Austreberte  which  has 
been  transported  from  Artois  hither  —  every  thing  is  just  I  suppose 
as  the  masons  and  carpenters  left  them,  —  and  if  the  belief  in  Christ 
continues  so  long,  will  be  so  these  fifty  years  to  come  —  so  your  wor- 
ships and  reverences  may  all  measure  them  at  your  leisures but 

he  who  measures  thee,  Janatone,  must  do  it  now  —  thou  carriest 
the  principles  of  change  within  thy  frame;  and   considering  the 
chances  of  a  transitory  life,  I  would  not  answer  for  thee  a  moment; 
ere  twice  twelve  months  are  passed  and  gone,  thou  mayest  grow  out 

like  a  pumpkin,  and  lose  thy  shapes or  thou  mayest  go  off 

like  a  flower,  and  lose  thy  beauty  —  nay,  thou  mayest  go  off  like  a 
hussy  —  and  lose  thyself.  —  I  would   not   answer  for  my  aunt 

Dinah,  was  she  alive 'faith,  scarce  for  her  picture were  it 

but  painted  by  Reynolds  — 

But  if  I  go  on  with  my  drawing,  after  naming  that  son  of  Apollo 
I'll  be  shot 

So  you  must  e'en  be  content  with  the  original;  which,  if  the  even- 
ing is  fine  in  passing  thro'  Montreuil,  you  will  see  at  your  chaise- 
door,  as  you  change  horses:  but  unless  you  have  as  bad  a  reason  for 

haste  as  I  have  —  you  had  better  stop : She  has  a  little  of  the 

devote :  but  that,  sir,  is  a  terce  to  a  nine  in  your  favour 

—  L  —  help  me !  I  could  not  count  a  single  point :  so  had  been 
piqued  and  repiqued,  and  capotted  to  the  devil. 


348 


OF   TRISTRAM    SHANDY 

CHAPTER   X 

ALL  which  being  considered,  and  that  Death  moreover  might 
be  much  nearer  me  than  I  imagined 1  wish  I  was  at 

Abbeville,  quoth  I,  were  it  only  to  see  how  they  card  and  spin 

so  off  we  set. 

de  Montreuil  a  Nampont-poste  et  demi 

de  Nampont  a  Bernay poste 

de  Bernay  a  Nouvion poste 

de  Nouvion  a  ABBEVILLE  -  poste 

but  the  carders  and  spinners  were  all  gone  to  bed. 

CHAPTER   XI 

WHAT  a  vast  advantage  is  travelling!  only  it  heats  one;  but 
there  is  a  remedy  for  that,  which  you  may  pick  out  of  the 
next  chapter. 

CHAPTER    XII 

WAS  I  in  a  condition  to  stipulate  with  Death,  as  I  am  this 
moment  with  my  apothecary,  how  and  where  I  will  take  his 

clyster 1  should  certainly  declare  against  submitting  to  it  before 

my  friends;  and  therefore  I  never  seriously  think  upon  the  mode 
and  manner  of  this  great  catastrophe,  which  generally  takes  up  and 
torments  my  thoughts  as  much  as  the  catastrophe  itself;  but  I  con- 
stantly draw  the  curtain  across  it  with  this  wish,  that  the  Disposer 
of  all  things  may  so  order  it,  that  it  happen  not  to  me  in  my  own 

house but  rather  in  some  decent  inn at  home,  I  know  it, 

the  concern  of  my  friends,  and  the  last  services  of  wiping  my 

brows,  and  smoothing  my  pillow,  which  the  quivering  hand  of  pale 
affection  shall  pay  me,  will  so  crucify  my  soul,  that  I  shall  die  of  a 
distemper  which  my  physician  is  not  aware  of:  but  in  an  inn,  the 
few  cold  offices  I  wanted,  would  be  purchased  with  a  few  guineas, 

and  paid  me  with  an  undisturbed,  but  punctual  attention 

but  mark.     This  inn  should  not  be  the  inn  at  Abbeville if 

there  was  not  another  inn  in  the  universe,  I  would  strike  that  inn 
out  of  the  capitulation :  so 
Let  the  horses  be  in  the  chaise  exactly  by  four  in  the  morning 

Yes,  by  four,  Sir, or  by  Genevieve  I    I'll  raise  a  clatter  in 

the  house  shall  wake  the  dead. 

349 


THE   LIFE   AND    OPINIONS 


CHAPTER   XIII 

"TV  TAKE  them  like  unto  a  wheel,"  is  a  bitter  sarcasm,  as  all  the 

JLVJ.  learned  know,  against  the  grand  tour,  and  that  restless 
spirit  for  making  it,  which  David  prophetically  foresaw  would 
haunt  the  children  of  men  in  the  latter  days;  and  therefore,  as 
thinketh  the  great  bishop  Hall,  'tis  one  of  the  severest  imprecations 
which  David  ever  utter'd  against  the  enemies  of  the  Lord  —  and, 
as  if  he  had  said,  "I  wish  them  no  worse  luck  than  always  to  be 
rolling  about"  —  So  much  motion,  continues  he  (for  he  was  very 
corpulent)  —  is  so  much  un quietness;  and  so  much  of  rest,  by  the 
same  analogy,  is  so  much  of  heaven. 

Now,  I  (being  very  thin)  think  differently;  and  that  so  much  of 

motion,  is  so  much  of  life,  and  so  much  of  joy and  that  to  stand 

still,  or  get  on  but  slowly,  is  death  and  the  devil 

Hollo!  Ho! the    whole    world's     asleep! —  bring  out  the 

horses grease  the  wheels tie  on  the  mail and  drive 

a  nail  into  that  moulding I'll  not  lose  a  moment 

Now  the  wheel  we  are  talking  of,  and  whereinto  (but  not  where- 
onto,  for  that  would  make  an  Ixion's  wheel  of  it)  he  curseth  his 
enemies,  according  to  the  bishop's  habit  of  body,  should  certainly 
be  a  post-chaise  wheel,  whether  they  were  set  up  in  Palestine  at  that 

time  or  not and  my  wheel,  for  the  contrary  reasons,  must  as 

certainly  be  a  cart-wheel  groaning  round  its  revolution  once  in  an 
age;  and  of  which  sort,  were  I  to  turn  commentator,  I  should  make 
no  scruple  to  affirm,  they  had  great  store  in  that  hilly  country. 

I  love  the  Pythagoreans  (much  more  than  ever  I  dare  tell  my  dear 
Jenny)  fcr  their  (()^(apia-p.ov  O.-TTO  TOV  Sw/zaros,  eis  TO  KaXai?  <£iAo(ro<£eu/" 

[their]  "getting  out  oj  the  body,  in  order  to  think  well."    No 

man  thinks  right,  whilst  he  is  in  it;  blinded  as  he  must  be,  with 
his  congenial  humours,  and  drawn  differently  aside,  as  the  bishop 

and  myself  have  been,  with  too  lax  or  too  tense  a  fibre REASON 

is,  half  of  it,  SENSE;  and  the  measure  of  heaven  itself  is  but  the 
measure  of  our  present  appetites  and  concoctions 

But  which  of  the  two,  in  the  present  case,  do  you  think  to 

be  mostly  in  the  wrong? 

You,  certainly:  quoth  she,  to  disturb  a  whole  family  so  early. 


350 


B 


OF   TRISTRAM   SHANDY 


CHAPTER  XIV 

i  UT  she  did  not  know  I  was  under  a  vow  not  to  shave  my 
beard  till  I  got  to  Paris  ; yet  I  hate  to  make  mys- 
teries of  nothing; 'tis  the  cold  cautiousness  of  one  of  those  little 

souls  from  which  Lessius  (lib.  13,  de  moribus  divinis,  cap.  24)  hath 
made  his  estimate,  wherein  he  setteth  forth,  That  one  Dutch  mile, 
cubically  multiplied,  will  allow  room  enough,  and  to  spare,  for  eight 
hundred  thousand  millions,  which  he  supposes  to  be  as  great  a 
number  of  souls  (counting  from  the  fall  of  Adam)  as  can  possibly 
be  damn'd  to  the  end  of  the  world. 

From  what  he  has  made  this  second  estimate unless  from 

the  parental  goodness  of  God  —  I  don't  know  —  I  am  much  more 
at  a  loss  what  could  be  in  Franciscus  Ribbera's  head,  who  pretends 
that  no  less  a  space  than  one  of  two  hundred  Italian  miles  multi- 
plied into  itself,  will  be  sufficient  to  hold  the  like  number he 

certainly  must  have  gone  upon  some  of  the  old  Roman  souls,  of 
which  he  had  read,  without  reflecting  how  much,  by  a  gradual  and 
most  tabid  decline,  in  the  course  of  eighteen  hundred  years,  they 
must  unavoidably  have  shrunk  so  as  to  have  come,  when  he  wrote, 
almost  to  nothing. 

In  Lessius's  time,  who  seems  the  cooler  man,  they  were  as  little 
as  can  be  imagined 


We  find  them  less  now- 


And  next  winter  we  shall  find  them  less  again;  so  that  if  we  go 
on  from  little  to  less,  and  from  less  to  nothing,  I  hesitate  not  one 
moment  to  affirm,  that  in  half  a  century,  at  this  rate,  we  shall  have 
no  souls  at  all;  which  being  the  period  beyond  which  I  doubt  like- 
wise of  the  existence  of  the  Christian  faith,  'twill  be  one  advantage 
that  both  of  'em  will  be  exactly  worn  out  together. 

Blessed  Jupiter/  and  blessed  every  other  heathen  god  and  god- 
dess! for  now  ye  will  all  come  into  play  again,  and  with  Priapus  at 

your  tails what  jovial  times! but  where  am  I?  and  into 

what  a  delicious  riot  of  things  am  I  rushing  ?  I 1  who  must 

be  cut  short  hi  the  midst  of  my  days,  and  taste  no  more  of  'em  than 

what  I  borrow  from  my  imagination peace  to  thee,  generous 

fool!  and  let  me  go  on. 


THE   LIFE  AND   OPINIONS 

CHAPTER  XV 

hating,  I  say,  to  make  mysteries  of  nothing" 

!  intrusted  it  with  the  post-boy,  as  soon  as  ever  I 
got  off  the  stones ;  he  gave  a  crack  with  his  whip  to  balance  the  com- 
pliment ;  and  with  the  thill-horse  trotting,  and  a  sort  of  an  up  and  a 
down  of  the  other,  we  danced  it  along  to  Ailly  au  dockers,  famed 
in  days  of  yore  for  the  finest  chimes  in  the  world;  but  we  danced 
through  it  without  music  —  the  chimes  being  greatly  out  of  order 
—  (as  in  truth  they  were  through  all  France). 

And  so  making  all  possible  speed,  from 

Ailly  au  dockers,  I  got  to  Hixcourt, 
from  Hixcourt,  I  got  to  Pequignay,  and 
from  Pequignay,  I  got  to  AMIENS, 
concerning  which  town  I  have  nothing  to  inform  you,  but  what  I 

have  informed  you  once  before and  that  was  —  that  Janatone 

went  there  to  school. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

IN  the  whole  catalogue  of  those  whiffling  vexations  which  come 
puffing  across  a  man's  canvass,  there  is  not  one  of  a  more  teasing 
and  tormenting  nature,  than  this  particular  one  which  I  am  going 

to  describe and  for  which  (unless  you  travel  with  an  avance- 

courier,  which  numbers  do  in  order  to  prevent  it) there  is  no 

help :  and  it  is  this. 

That  be  you  in  never  so  kindly  a  propensity  to  sleep tho'  you 

are  passing  perhaps  through  the  finest  country  —  upon  the  best 

roads,  and  in  the  easiest  carriage  for  doing  it  in  the  world nay, 

was  you  sure  you  could  sleep  fifty  miles  straight  forwards,  without 
once  opening  your  eyes  —  nay,  what  is  more,  was  you  as  demon- 
stratively satisfied  as  you  can  be  of  any  truth  in  Euclid,  that  you 
should  upon  all  accounts  be  full  as  well  asleep  as  awake  —  —  nay, 

perhaps  better Yet  the  incessant  returns  pf  paying  for  the 

horses  at  every  stage, with  the  necessity  thereupon  of  putting 

your  hand  into  your  pocket,  and  counting  out  from  thence  three 
livres  fifteen  sous  (sous  by  sous),  puts  an  end  to  so  much  of  the  pro- 
ject, that  you  cannot  execute  above  six  miles  of  it  (or  supposing 

352 


OF   TRISTRAM   SHANDY 

it  is  a  post  and  a  half,  that  is  but  nine) were  it  to  save  your 

soul  from  destruction. 

—  I'll  be  even  with  'em,  quoth  I,  for  I'll  put  the  precise  sum  in 
a  piece  of  paper,  and  hold  it  ready  in  my  hand  all  the  way:  "Now 
I  shall  have  nothing  to  do,"  said  I  (composing  myself  to  rest),  "but 
to  drop  this  gently  into  the  post-boy's  hat,  and  not  say  a  word." 

Then  there  wants  two  sous  more  to  drink or  there  is  a 

twelve  sous  piece  of  Louis  XIV.  which  will  not  pass  —  or  a  livre 
and  some  odd  liards  to  be  brought  over  from  the  last  stage,  which 
Monsieur  had  forgot;  which  altercations  (as  a  man  cannot  dispute 
very  well  asleep)  rouse  him:  still  is  sweet  sleep  retrievable;  and  still 
might  the  flesh  weigh  down  the  spirit,  and  recover  itself  of  these 
blows  —  but  then,  by  heaven !  you  have  paid  but  for  a  single  post 
—  whereas  'tis  a  post  and  a  half;  and  this  obliges  you  to  pull  out 
your  book  of  post-roads,  the  print  of  which  is  so  very  small,  it  forces 
you  to  open  your  eyes,  whether  you  will  or  no:  Then  Monsieur  le 

Curi  offers  you  a  pinch  of  snuff or  a  poor  soldier  shews  you  his 

leg  —  or  a  shaveling  his  box or  the  priestess  of  the  cistern  will 

water  your  wheels they  do  not  want  it but  she  swears  by 

her  priesthood  (throwing  it  back)  that  they  do: then  you  have 

all  these  points  to  argue,  or  consider  over  in  you.r  mind ;  in  doing  of 

which,  the  rational  powers  get  so  thoroughly  awakened you 

may  get  'em  to  sleep  again  as  you  can. 

It  was  entirely  owing  to  one  of  these  misfortunes,  or  I  had  pass'd 

clean  by  the  stables  of  Chantilly 

—  But  the  postilion  first  affirming,  and  then  persisting  in  it  to 
my  face,  that  there  was  no  mark  upon  the  two  sous  piece,  I  open'd 
my  eyes  to  be  convinced  —  and  seeing  the  mark  upon  it  as  plain  as 
my  nose  —  I  leap'd  out  of  the  chaise  in  a  passion,  and  so  saw  every 

thing  at  Chantilly  in  spite. 1  tried  it  but  for  three  posts  and  a 

half,  but  believe  'tis  the  best  principle  in  the  world  to  travel  speedily 
upon;  for  as  few  objects  look  very  inviting  in  that  mood  —  you 
have  little  or  nothing  to  stop  you;  by  which  means  it  was  that  I 
passed  through  St.  Dennis,  without  turning  my  head  so  much  as  on 
one  side  towards  the  Abby 

Richness  of  their  treasury!  stuff  and  nonsense! bating 

their  jewels,  which  are  all  false,  I  would  not  give  three  sous  for  any 

one  thing  in  it,  but  Jaidas's  lantern nor  for  that  either,  only 

as  it  grows  dark,  it  might  be  of  use. 

353 


THE   LIFE  AND   OPINIONS 


CHAPTER  XVII 

CRACK,    crack crack,     crack crack,    crack so 
this  is  Paris  I  quoth  I  (continuing  in  the  same  mood)  —  and 

this  is  Paris  I humph! Paris  I  cried  I,  repeating  the  name 

the  third  time 

The  first,  the  finest,  the  most  brilliant 

The  streets  however  are  nasty. 

But  it  looks,  I  suppose,  better  than  it  smells crack,  crack 

crack,  crack what  a  fuss  thou  makest!  —  as  if  it  con- 


cerned the  good  people  to  be  informed,  that  a  man  with  pale  face 
and  clad  in  black,  had  the  honour  to  be  driven  into  Paris  at  nine 
o'clock  at  night,  by  a  postilion  in  a  tawny  yellow  jerkin,  turned  up 

with  red  calamanco  —  crack,  crack crack,  crack, crack, 

crack 1  wish  thy  whip 

But  'tis  the  spirit  of  thy  nation;  so  crack  —  crack  on. 

Ha! and  no  one  gives  the  wall! but  in  the  SCHOOL  OF 

URBANITY  herself,  the  walls  are  besh-t  —  how  can  you  do  other- 
wise? 

And  prithee  when  do  they  light  the  lamps  ?  What  ?  —  never  in 

the  summer  months! Ho!  'tis  the  time  of  sallads. O  rare! 

sallad  and  soup  —  soup  and  sallad  —  sallad  and  soup,  encore  — 

'Tis  too  much  for  sinners. 

Now  I  cannot  bear  the  barbarity  of  it;  how  can  that  uncon- 
scionable coachman  talk  so  much  bawdy  to  that  lean  horse  ?  don't 
you  see,  friend,  the  streets  are  so  villainously  narrow,  that  there 
is  not  room  in  all  Paris  to  turn  a  wheelbarrow?  In  the  grandest 
city  of  the  whole  world,  it  would  not  have  been  amiss,  if  they  had 
been  left  a  thought  wider;  nay,  were  it  only  so  much  in  every  single 
street,  as  that  a  man  might  know  (was  it  only  for  satisfaction)  on 
which  side  of  it  he  was  walking. 

One  —  two  —  three  —  four  —  five  —  six  —  seven  —  eight  — 
—  nine  —  ten.  —  Ten  cook's  shops!  and  twice  the  number  of 
barbers!  and  all  within  three  minutes  driving!  one  would  think 
that  all  the  cooks  in  the  world,  on  some  great  merry-meeting  with 
the  barbers,  by  joint  consent  had  said  —  Come,  let  us  all  go  live 

at  Paris :  the  French  love  good  eating they  are  all  gourmands 

we  shall  rank  high;  if  their  god  is  their  belly their 

cooks  must  be  gentlemen:  and  forasmuch  as  the  periwig  maketh 
the  man,  and  the  periwig-maker  maketh  the  periwig  —  ergo,  would 

354 


OF   TRISTRAM    SHANDY 

the  barbers   say,  we  shall  rank  higher  still  —  we  shall  be  above 
you  all  — we  shall  be  Capitouls  at  least  —  pardi  I  we  shall  all  wear 

swords 

—  And  so,  one  would  swear  (that  is,  by  candle  light,  —  but 
there  is  no  depending  upon  it)  they  continue  to  do,  to  this  day. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  French  are  certainly  misunderstood :  —  but  whether  the 
fault  is  theirs,  in  not  sufficiently  explaining  themselves;  or 
speaking  with  that  exact  limitation  and  precision  which  one  would 
expect  on  a  point  of  such  importance,  and  which,  moreover,  is  so 

likely  to  be  contested  by  us or  whether  the  fault  may  not  be 

altogether  on  our  side,  in  not  understanding  their  language  always 

so  critically  as  to  know  "what  they  would  be  at" 1  shall  not 

decide ;  but  'tis  evident  to  me,  when  they  affirm,  "  That  they  who 
have  seen  Paris,  have  seen  every  thing"  they  must  mean  to  speak 
of  those  who  have  seen  it  by  day-light. 

As  for  candle-light  —  I  give  it  up 1  have  said  before,  there 

was  no  depending  upon  it  —  and  I  repeat  it  again ;  but  not  because 
the  lights  and  shades  are  too  sharp  —  or  the  tints  confounded  — 
or  that  there  is  neither  beauty  or  keeping,  &c.  ...  for  that's 
not  truth  —  but  it  is  an  uncertain  light  in  this  respect,  That  in  all 
the  five  hundred  grand  Hotels,  which  they  number  up  to  you  in 
Paris  —  and  the  five  hundred  good  things,  at  a  modest  computa- 
tion (fo:  'tis  only  allowing  one  good  thing  to  a  H6tel),  which  by 
candle-light  are  best  to  be  seen,  felt,  heard,  and  understood  (which, 

by  the  bye,  is  a  quotation  from  Lilly) the  devil  a  one  of  us 

out  of  fifty,  can  get  our  heads  fairly  thrust  in  amongst  them. 
This  is  no  part  of  the  French  computation :  'tis  simply  this, 
That  by  the  last  survey  taken  in  the  year  one  thousand  seven 
hundred  and  sixteen,  since  which  time  there  have  been  considerable 
augmentations,  Paris  doth  contain  nine  hundred  streets;  (viz.) 
In  the  quarter  called  the  City  —  there  are  fifty-three  streets. 
In  St.  James  of  the  Shambles,  fifty-five  streets. 
In  St.  Oportune,  thirty-four  streets. 
In  the  quarter  of  the  Louvre,  twenty-five  streets. 
In  the  Palace  Royal,  or  St.  Honorius,  forty-nine  streets. 
In  Mont.  Martyr,  forty-one  streets. 

355 


THE   LIFE  AND   OPINIONS 

In  St.  Eustace,  twenty-nine  streets. 

In  the  Halles,  twenty-seven  streets. 

In  St.  Dennis,  fifty-five  streets. 

In  St.  Martin,  fifty-four  streets. 

In  St.  Paul,  or  the  Mortellerie,  twenty-seven  streets. 

The  Greve,  thirty-eight  streets. 

In  St.  Avoy,  or  the  Verrerie,  nineteen  streets. 

In  the  Marais,  or  the  Temple,  fifty-two  streets. 

In  St.  Antony's,  sixty-eight  streets. 

In  the  Place  Maubert,  eighty-one  streets. 

In  St.  Bennet,  sixty  streets. 

In  St.  Andrews  de  Arcs,  fifty-one  streets. 

In  the  quarter  of  the  Luxembourg,  sixty-two  streets. 

And  in  that  of  St.  Germain,  fifty-five  streets,  into  any  of  which  you 

may  walk;  and  that  when  you  have  seen  them  with  all  that  belongs 

to  them,   fairly  by  day-light  —  their  gates,  their  bridges,   their 

squares,  their  statues and  have  crusaded  it  moreover,  through 

all  their  parish-churches,  by  no  means  omitting  St.  Roche  and 

Sulpice and  to  crown  all,  have  taken  a  walk  to  the  four  palaces, 

which  you  may  see,  either  with  or  without  the  statues  and  pictures, 
just  as  you  chuse  — 

Then  you  will  have  seen 

but,  'tis  what  no  one  needeth  to  tell  you,  for  you  will  read 

of  it  yourself  upon  the  portico  of  the  Louvre,  in  these  words, 

EARTH  NO  SUCH  FOLKS !  —  NO  FOLKS  E'ER  SUCH  A  TOWN  AS  PARIS 
IS!  —  SING,  DERRY,  DERRY,  DOWN. 

The  French  have  a  gay  way  of  treating  every  thing  that  is  Great ; 
and  that  is  all  can  be  said  upon  it. 


I 


CHAPTER  XIX 

N  mentioning  the  word  gay  (as  in  the  close  of  the  last  chapter) 

it  puts  one  (i.  e.  an  author)  in  mind  of  the  word  spleen  — 
especially  if  he  has  any  thing  to  say  upon  it :  not  that  by  any  analysis 
—  or  that  from  any  table  of  interest  or  genealogy,  there  appears 
much  more  ground  of  alliance  betwixt  them,  than  betwixt  light 
and  darkness,  or  any  two  of  the  most  unfriendly  opposites  in 

nature only  'tis  an  undercraft  of  authors  to  keep  up  a  good 

understanding  amongst  words,  as  politicians  do  amongst  men  — 

356 


OF   TRISTRAM    SHANDY 

not  knowing  how. near  they  may  be  under  a  necessity  of  placing 

them  to  each  other which  point  being  now  gain'd,  and  that  I 

may  place  mine  exactly  to  my  mind,  I  write  it  down  here  — 

SPLEEN 

This,  upon  leaving  Chantilly,  I  declared  to  be  the  best  principle 
in  the  world  to  travel  speedily  upon;  but  I  gave  it  only  as  matter 
of  opinion.  I  still  continue  in  the  same  sentiments  —  only  I  had 
not  then  experience  enough  of  its  working  to  add  this,  that  though 
you  do  get  on  at  a  tearing  rate,  yet  you  get  on  but  uneasily  to  your- 
self at  the  same  time;  for  which  reason  I  here  quit  it  entirely,  and 
for  ever,  and  'tis  heartily  at  any  one's  service  —  it  has  spoiled  me 
the  digestion  of  a  good  supper,  and  brought  on  a  bilious  diarrhcea, 
which  has  brought  me  back  again  to  my  first  principle  on  which 

I  set  out and  with  which  I  shall  now  scamper  it  away  to  the 

banks  of  the  Garonne  — 

—  No; 1  cannot  stop  a  moment  to  give  you  the  char- 
acter of  the  people  —  their  genius their  manners  —  their  cus- 
toms —  their  laws their  religion  —  their  government  —  their 

manufactures  —  their  commerce  —  their  finances,  with  all  the 
resources  and  hidden  springs  which  sustain  them:  qualified  as  I 
may  be,  by  spending  three  days  and  two  nights  amongst  them,  and 
during  all  that  time  making  these  things  the  entire  subject  of  my 
enquiries  and  reflections 

Still  —  still  I  must  away the  roads  are  paved  —  the  posts 

are  short  —  the  days  are  long  —  'tis  no  more  than  noon  —  I  shall 
be  at  Fontainbleau  before  the  king 

—  Was  he  going  there  ?  not  that  I  know 


CHAPTER  XX 

NOW  I  hate  to  hear  a  person,  especially  if  he  be  a  traveller, 
complain  that  we  do  not  get  on  so  fast  in  France  as  we  do  in 
England;  whereas  we  get  on  much  faster,  consider atis  consider andis; 
thereby  always  meaning,  that  if  you  weigh  their  vehicles  with  the 
mountains  of  baggage  which  you  lay  both  before  and  behind  upon 
them  —  and  then  consider  their  puny  horses,  with  the  very  little 
they  give  them —  'tis  a  wonder  they  get  on  at  all:  their  suffering 
is  most  unchristian,  and  'tis  evident  thereupon  to  me,  that  a  French 

357 


THE   LIFE   AND    OPINIONS 

post-horse  would  not  know  what  in  the  world  to  do,  was  it  not  for 
the  two  words  ******  and  ******  in  which  there  is  as  much  sus- 
tenance, as  if  you  gave  him  a  peck  of  corn :  now  as  these  words  cost 
nothing,  I  long  from  my  soul  to  tell  the  reader  what  they  are;  but 
here  is  the  question  —  they  must  be  told  him  plainly,  and  with  the 
most  distinct  articulation,  or  it  will  answer  no  end  —  and  yet  to 
do  it  in  that  plain  way  —  though  their  reverences  may  laugh  at 
it  in  the  bed-chamber  —  full  well  I  wot,  they  will  abuse  it  in  the 
parlour:  for  which  cause,  I  have  been  volving  and  revolving  in  my 
fancy  some  time,  but  to  no  purpose,  by  what  clean  device  or  facette 
contrivance  I  might  so  modulate  them,  that  whilst  I  satisfy  that  ear 
which  the  reader  chuses  to  lend  me  —  I  might  not  dissatisfy  the  other 
which  he  keeps  to  himself. 

My  ink  burns  my  finger  to  try and  when  I  have  — 

'twill  have  a  worse  consequence it  will  burn  ( I  fear)  my  paper. 

No; 1  dare  not 

But  if  you  wish  to  know  how  the  abbess  of  Andoiiillets  and  a 
novice  of  her  convent  got  over  the  difficulty  (only  first  wishing 
myself  all  imaginable  success)  —  I'll  tell  you  without  the  least 
scruple 

CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  abbess  of  Andoiiillets,  which,  if  you  look  into  the  large 
set  of  provincial  maps  now  publishing  at  Paris,  you  will  find 
situated  amongst  the  hills  which  divide  Burgundy  from  Savoy, 
being  in  danger  of  an  Anchylosis  or  stiff  joint  (the  sinovi  of  her 
knee  becoming  hard  by  long  matins),  and  having  tried  every  remedy 

first,  prayers  and  thanksgiving ;  then  invocations  to  all  the 

saints  in  heaven    promiscuously then  particularly  to  every 

saint  who  had  ever  had  a  stiff  leg  before  her then  touching  it 

with  all  the  reliques  of  the  convent,  principally  with  the  thigh-bone 

of  the  man  of  Lystra,  who  had  been  impotent  from  his  youth 

then  wrapping  it  up  in  her  veil  when  she  went  to  bed  —  then  cross- 
wise her  rosary  —  then  bringing  in  to  her  aid  the  secular  arm,  and 
anointing  it  with  oils  and  hot  fat  of  animals  —  then  treating  it 
with  emollient  and  resolving  fomentations then  with  poul- 
tices of  marsh-mallows,  mallows,  bonus  Henricus,  white  lilies  and 
fenugreek  —  then  taking  the  woods,  I  mean  the  smoak  of  'em, 
holding  her  scapulary  across  her  lap then  decoctions  of  wild 

358 


OF   TRISTRAM    SHANDY 

chicory,  water-cresses,  chervil,  sweet  cecily  and  cochlearia and 

nothing  all  this  while  answering,  was  prevailed  on  at  last  to  try  the 

hot  baths  of  Bourbon so  having  first  obtain 'd  leave  of  the 

visitor-general  to  take  care  of  her  existence  —  she  ordered  all  to 
be  got  ready  for  her  journey:  a  novice  of  the  convent  of  about  seven- 
teen, who  had  been  troubled  with  a  whitloe  hi  her  middle  finger, 
by  sticking  it  constantly  into  the  abbess's  cast  poultices,  &c.  — 
had  gained  such  an  interest,  that  overlooking  a  sciatical  old  nun, 
who  might  have  been  set  up  for  ever  by  the  hot-baths  of  Bourbon, 
Margarita,  the  little  novice,  was  elected  as  the  companion  of  the 
journey. 

An  old  calesh,  belonging  to  the  abbess,  lined  with  green  frize, 
was  ordered  to  be  drawn  out  into  the  sun  —  the  gardener  of  the 
convent  being  chosen  muleteer,  led  out  the  two  old  mules,  to  clip 
the  hair  from  the  rump-ends  of  their  tails,  whilst  a  couple  of  lay- 
sisters  were  busied,  the  one  in  darning  the  lining,  and  the  other  in 
sewing  on  the  shreds  of  yellow  binding,  which  the  teeth  of  time  had 

unravelled the  under-gardener  dress'd  the  muleteer's  hat  hi  hot 

wine-lees and  a  taylor  sat  musically  at  it,  hi  a  shed  over-against 

the  convent,  in  assorting  four  dozen  of  bells  for  the  harness,  whistling 
to  each  bell,  as  he  tied  it  on  with  a  thong. 

The  carpenter  and  the  smith  of  Andouillets  held  a  council 

of  wheels;  and  by  seven,  the  morning  after,  ah1  look'd  spruce,  and 
was  ready  at  the  gate  of  the  convent  for  the  hot-baths  of  Bourbon  — 
two  rows  of  the  unfortunate  stood  ready  there  an  hour  before. 

The  abbess  of  Andouillets,  supported  by  Margarita  the  novice, 
advanced  slowly  to  the  calesh,  both  clad  hi  white,  with  their  black 

rosaries  hanging  at  their  breasts 

-  There  was  a  simple  solemnity  in  the  contrast:  they  entered 
the  calesh;  and  nuns  in  the  same  uniform,  sweet  emblem  of  inno- 
cence, each  occupied  a  window,  and  as  the  abbess  and  Margarita 
look'd  up  —  each  (the  sciatical  poor  nun  excepted)  —  each  stream'd 
out  the  end  of  her  veil  hi  the  air  —  then  kiss'd  the  lily  hand  which 
let  it  go:  the  good  abbess  and  Margarita  laid  their  hands  saint-wise 
upon  their  breasts  —  look'd  up  to  heaven  —  then  to  them  —  and 
look'd  "  God  bless  you,  dear  sisters." 

I  declare  I  am  interested  hi  this  story,  and  wish  I  had  been  there. 

The  gardener,  whom  I  shall  now  call  the  muleteer,  was  a  little, 
hearty,  broad-set,  good-natured,  chattering,  toping  kind  of  a  fellow, 
who  troubled  bis  head  very  little  with  the  hows  and  whens  of  life;  so 

359 


THE   LIFE  AND   OPINIONS 

had  mortgaged  a  month  of  his  conventical  wages  in  a  borrachio, 
or  leathern  cask  of  wine,  which  he  had  disposed  behind  the  calesh, 
with  a  large  russet-coloured  riding-coat  over  it,  to  guard  it  from  the 
sun;  and  as  the  weather  was  hot,  and  he  not  a  niggard  of  his  labours, 
walking  ten  times  more  than  he  rode  —  he  found  more  occasions 
than  those  of  nature ,  to  fall  back  to  the  rear  of  his  carriage ;  till  by 
frequent  coming  and  going,  it  had  so  happen'd,  that  all  his  wine 
had  leak'd  out  at  the  legal  vent  of  the  borrachio,  before  one  half  of 
the  journey  was  finish'd. 

Man  is  a  creature  bom  to  habitudes .  The  day  had  been  sultry  — 
the  evening  was  delicious  —  the  wine  was  generous  —  the  Burgun- 
dian  hill  on  which  it  grew  was  steep  —  a  little  tempting  bush  over 
the  door  of  a  cool  cottage  at  the  foot  of  it,  hung  vibrating  in  full 
harmony  with  the  passions  —  a  gentle  air  rustled  distinctly  through 
the  leaves  —  "Come  —  come,  thirsty  muleteer  —  come  in." 

—  The  muleteer  was  a  son  of  Adam;  I  need  not  say  a  word  more. 
He  gave  the  mules,  each  of  'em,  a  sound  lash,  and  looking  in  the 
abbess's  and  Margarita's  faces  (as  he  did  it)  —  as  much  as  to  say 
"here  I  am"  —  he  gave  a  second  good  crack  —  as  much  as  to  say 

to  his  mules,  "  get  on  " so  slinking  behind,  he  enter'd  the  little 

inn  at  the  foot  of  the  hill. 

The  muleteer,  as  I  told  you,  was  a  little,  joyous,  chirping  fellow, 
who  thought  not  of  to-morrow,  nor  of  what  had  gone  before,  or 
what  was  to  follow  it,  provided  he  got  but  his  scantling  of  Burgundy, 
and  a  little  chit-chat  along  with  it;  so  entering  into  a  long  conversa- 
tion, as  how  he  was  chief  gardener  to  the  convent  of  Andoiiillets, 
&c.  &c.,  and  out  of  friendship  for  the  abbess  and  Mademoiselle 
Margarita,  who  was  only  in  her  noviciate,  he  had  come  along  with 
them  from  the  confines  of  Savoy,  &c.  &c.  —  and  as  how  she  had 
got  a  white  swelling  by  her  devotions  —  and  what  a  nation  of  herbs 
he  had  procured  to  mollify  her  humours,  &c.  &c.,  and  that  if  the 
waters  of  Bourbon  did  not  mend  that  leg  —  she  might  as  well  be 
lame  of  both  —  &c.  &c.  &c.  —  He  so  contrived  his  story,  as 
absolutely  to  forget  the  heroine  of  it  —  and  with  her  the  little 
novice,  and  what  was  a  more  ticklish  point  to  be  forgot  than  both  — 
the  two  mules ;  who  being  creatures  that  take  advantage  of  the  world, 
inasmuch  as  their  parents  took  it  of  them  —  and  they  not  being  in  a 
condition  to  return  the  obligation  down-wards  (as  men  and  women 
and  beasts  are)  —  they  do  it  side-ways,  and  long-ways,  and  back- 
ways  —  and  up  hill,  and  down  hill,  and  which  way  they  can. 

360 


OF   TRISTRAM    SHANDY 

Philosophers,  with  all  their  ethicks,  have  never  considered  this 
rightly  —  how  should  the  poor  muleteer,  then  in  his  cups,  consider 
it  at  all?  he  did  not  in  the  least —  'tis  time  we  do;  let  us  leave  him 
then  in  the  vortex  of  his  element,  the  happiest  and  most  thoughtless 

of  mortal  men and  for  a  moment  let  us  look  after  the  mules, 

the  abbess,  and  Margarita. 

By  virtue  of  the  muleteer's  two  last  strokes  the  mules  had  gone 
quietly  on,  following  their  own  consciences  up  the  hill,  till  they  had 
conquer'd  about  one  half  of  it;  when  the  elder  of  them,  a  shrewd 
crafty  old  devil,  at  the  turn  of  an  angle,  giving  a  side  glance,  and 
no  muleteer  behind  them 

By  my  fig!  said  she,  swearing,  I'll  go  no  further And  if  I  do, 

replied  the  other,  they  shall  make  a  drum  of  my  hide. 

And  so  with  one  consent  they  stopp'd  thus 


G 


CHAPTER  XXII 

ET  on  with  you,  said  the  abbess. 

—  Wh ysh ysh cried  Margarita. 

She a shu shu  —  u  —  sh  —  aw shaw'd 

the  abbess. 

Whu  —  v  —  w whew  —  w  —  w  —  whuv'd  Margarita, 

pursing  up  her  sweet  lips  betwixt  a  hoot  and  a  whistle. 

Thump  —  thump  —  thump  —  obstreperated  the  abbess  of  An- 
doiiillets  with  the  end  of  her  gold-headed  cane  against  the  bottom 
of  the  calesh 

The  old  mule  let  a  f  — 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

WE  are  ruin'd  and  undone,  my  child,  said  the  abbess  to  Mar- 
garita,   we  shall  be  here  all  night we  shall  be  plun- 

der'd we  shall  be  ravish'd 

We  shall  be  ravish'd,  said  Margarita,  as  sure  as  a  gun. 

Sancta  Maria!  cried  the  abbess  (forgetting  the  Of)  — why  was  I 
govern'd  by  this  wicked  stiff  joint?  why  did  I  leave  the  convent  of 
Andoiiillets?  and  why  didst  thou  not  suffer  thy  servant  to  go  unpol- 
luted to  her  tomb  ? 


THE   LIFE  AND   OPINIONS 

O  my  finger!  my  finger!  cried  the  novice,  catching  fire  at  the  word 
servant  —  why  was  I  not  content  to  put  it  here,  or  there,  any  where 
rather  than  be  in  this  strait? 

Strait!  said  the  abbess. 

Strait said  the  novice;  for  terror  had  struck  their  under- 
standings   the  one  knew  not  what  she  said the  other  what 

she  answer'd. 

O  my  virginity!  virginity!  cried  the  abbess. 

inityl inity!  said  the  novice,  sobbing. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

MYdear  mother,  quoth  the  novice,  coming  a  little  to  herself, 
there  are  two  certain  words,  which  I  have  been  told  will  force 
any  horse,  or  ass,  or  mule,  to  go  up  a  hill  whether  he  will  or  no ;  be  he 
never  so  obstinate  or  ill-will'd,  the  moment  he  hears  them  utter'd, 
he  obeys.  They  are  words  magic!  cried  the  abbess  in  the  utmost 
horror  —  No;  replied  Margarita  calmly  —  but  they  are  words 
sinful  —  What  are  they?  quoth  the  abbess,  interrupting  her:  They 
are  sinful  in  the  first  degree,  answered  Margarita,  —  they  are  mortal 
—  and  if  we  are  ravish'd  and  die  unabsolved  of  them,  we  shall 

both but  you  may  pronounce  them  to  me,  quoth  the  abbess  of 

Andouillets They  cannot,  my  dear  mother,  said  the  novice,  be 

pronounced  at  all;  they  will  make  all  the  blood  in  one's  body  fly 
up  into  one's  face  —  But  you  may  whisper  them  in  my  ear,  quoth 
the  abbess. 

Heaven!  hadst  thou  no  guardian  angel  to  delegate  to  the  inn  at 
the  bottom  of  the  hill?  was  there  no  generous  and  friendly  spirit 

unemployed no  agent  in  nature,  by  some  monitory  shivering, 

creeping  along  the  artery  which  led  to  his  heart,  to  rouse  the  muleteer 

from  his  banquet  ? no  sweet  minstrelsy  to  bring  back  the  fair 

idea  of  the  abbess  and  Margarita,  with  their  black  rosaries! 

Rouse!  rouse! but  'tis  too  late  —  the  horrid  words  are  pro- 
nounced this  moment 

and  how  to  tell  them  —  Ye,  who  can  speak  of  every  thing 

existing,  with  unpolluted  lips  —  instruct  me guide  me 


362 


OF   TRISTRAM    SHANDY 

CHAPTER  XXV 

ALL  sins  whatever,  quoth  the  abbess,  turning  casuist  in  the 
distress  they  were  under,  are  held  by  the  confessor  of  our 
convent  to  be  either  mortal  or  venial:  there  is  no  further  division. 
Now  a  venial  sin  being  the  slightest  and  least  of  all  sins  —  being 
halved  —  by  taking  either  only  the  half  of  it,  and  leaving  the  rest  — 
or,  by  taking  it  all,  and  amicably  halving  it  betwixt  yourself  and 
another  person  —  in  course  becomes  diluted  into  no  sin  at  all. 

Now  I  see  no  sin  in  saying,  bou,  bou,  bou,  bou,  bou,  a  hundred 
times  together;  nor  is  there  any  turpitude  in  pronouncing  the 
syllable  ger,  ger,  ger,  ger,  ger,  were  it  from  our  matins  to  our  vespers: 
Therefore,  my  dear  daughter,  continued  the  abbess  of  Andotiittets  — 
I  will  say  bou,  and  thou  shalt  say  ger;  and  then  alternately,  as  there 
is  no  more  sin  in  fou  than  in  bou  —  Thou  shalt  say  fou  —  and  I 
will  come  in  (like  fa,  sol,  la,  re,  mi,  ut,  at  our  complines)  with  ter. 
And  accordingly  the  abbess,  giving  the  pitch  note,  set  off  thus: 

Abbess,         |  Bou bou bou 

Margarita,    \ ger,  -  -  ger,  -  -  ger. 

Margarita,    )  Fou fou fou 

Abbess,         ) ter, ter, ter. 

The  two  mules  acknowledged  the  notes  by  a  mutual  lash  of  their 

tails ;  but  it  went  no  further 'Twill  answer  by  an'  by,  said  the 

novice. 

Abbess,         )  Bou-  bou-  bou-  bou-  bou-  bou- 

Margarita,    }  —  ger,  ger,  ger,  ger,  ger,  ger. 

Quicker  still,  cried  Margarita. 

Fou,  fou,  fou,  fou,  fou,  fou,  fou,  fou,  fou. 

Quicker  still,  cried  Margarita. 

Bou,  bou,  bou,  bou,  bou,  bou,  bou,  bou,  bou. 

Quicker  still — God  preserve  me;  said  the  abbess  —  They  do 
not  understand  us,  cried  Margarita  —  But  the  Devil  does,  said  the 
abbess  of  Andouillets. 

CHAPTER   XXVI 

WHAT  a  tract  of  country  have  I  run !  —  how  many  degrees 
nearer  to  the  warm  sun  am  I  advanced,  and  how  many  fair 
and  goodly  cities  have  I  seen,  during  the  time  you  have  been  read- 
ing, and  reflecting,  Madam,  upon  this  story!    There's  FONTAIN- 

363 


THE  LIFE  AND   OPINIONS 

BLEAU,  and  SENS,  and  JOIGNY,  and  AUXERRE,  and  DIJON  the  capi- 
tal of  Burgundy,  and  CHALLON,  and  Mdcon  the  capital  of  the 

Maconese,  and  a  score  more  upon  the  road  to  LYONS and  now 

I  have  run  them  over 1  might  as  well  talk  to  you  of  so  many 

market  towns  in  the  moon,  as  tell  you  one  word  about  them :  it  will 
be  this  chapter  at  the  least,  if  not  both  this  and  the  next  entirely 
lost,  do  what  I  will 

—  Why,  'tis  a  strange  story!     Tristram. 

Alas!  Madam, 

had  it  been  upon  some  melancholy  lecture  of  the  cross  —  the  peace 

of  meekness,  or  the  contentment  of  resignation 1  had  not  been 

incommoded :  or  had  I  thought  of  writing  it  upon  the  purer  abstrac- 
tions of  the  soul,  and  that  food  of  wisdom  and  holiness  and  contem- 
plation, upon  which  the  spirit  of  man  (when  separated  from  the 

body)  is  to  subsist  for  ever You  would  have  come  with  a  better 

appetite  from  it 

1  wish  I  never  had  wrote  it:  but  as  I  never  blot  any  thing  out 

let  us  use  some  honest  means  to  get  it  out  of  our  heads  directly. 

Pray  reach  me  my  fool's  cap 1  fear  you  sit  upon  it, 


Madam 'tis  under  the  cushion I'll  put  it  on 

Bless  me!  you  have  had  it  upon  your  head  this  half  hour. 
There  then  let  it  stay,  with  a 

Fa-ra  diddle  di 

and  a  fa-ri  diddle  d 

and  a  high-dum  —  dye-dum 

fiddle dumb  -  c. 

And  now,  Madam,  we  may  venture,  I  hope,  a  little  to  go  on. 


CHAPTER   XXVH 

A  LL  you  need  say  of  Fontairibleau  (in  case  you  are  ask'd) 

JT\.  is,  that  it  stands  about  forty  miles  (south  something) 
from  Paris,  in  the  middle  of  a  large  forest That  there  is  some- 
thing great  in  it That  the  king  goes  there  once  every  two  or 

three  years,  with  his  whole  court,  for  the  pleasure  of  the  chase  — 
and  that,  during  that  carnival  of  sporting,  any  English  gentleman  of 
fashion  (you  need  not  forget  yourself)  may  be  accommodated  with  a 
nag  or  two,  to  partake  of  the  sport,  taking  care  only  not  to  out-gallop 
the  king 

364 


OF   TRISTRAM    SHANDY 

Though  there  are  two  reasons  why  you  need  not  talk  loud  of  this 
to  every  one. 
First,  Because  'twill  make  the  said  nags  the  harder  to  be  got;  and 

Secondly,  'Tis  not  a  word  of  it  true. Allans  / 

As  for  SENS you  may  dispatch  —  in  a  word "'Tis 

an  archiepiscopal  see." 

For  JOIGNY  —  the  less,  I  think,  one  says  of  it  the  better. 

But  for  AUXERRE  —  I  could  go  on  for  ever :  for  in  my  grand  tour 
through  Europe,  in  which,  after  all,  my  father  (not  caring  to  trust 
me  with  any  one)  attended  me  himself,  with  my  uncle  Toby,  and 
Trim,  and  Obadiah,  and  indeed  most  of  the  family,  except  my 
mother,  who  being  taken  up  with  a  project  of  knitting  my  father  a 
pair  of  large  worsted  breeches  —  (the  thing  is  common  sense)  — 
and  she  not  caring  to  be  put  out  of  her  way,  she  staid  at  home,  at 
SHANDY  HALL,  to  keep  things  right  during  the  expedition ;  in  which, 
I  say,  my  father  stopping  us  two  days  at  Auxerre,  and  his  researches 
being  ever  of  such  a  nature,  that  they  would  have  found  fruit  even 

in  a  desert he  has  left  me  enough  to  say  upon  AUXERRE:  in 

short,  wherever  my  father  went but  'twas  more  remarkably  so, 

in  this  journey  through  France  and  Italy,  than  in  any  other  stages 

of  his  life his  road  seemed  to  lie  so  much  on  one  side  of  that, 

wherein  all  other  travellers  have  gone  before  him  —  he  saw  kings 

and  courts  and  silks  of  all  colours,  in  such  strange  lights and 

his  remarks  and  reasonings  upon  the  characters,  the  manners,  and 
customs  of  the  countries  we  pass'd  over,  were  so  opposite  to  those  of 
all  other  mortal  men,  particularly  those  of  my  uncle  Toby  and  Trim 

—  (to  say  nothing  of  myself)  —  and  to  crown  all  —  the  occurrences 
and  scrapes  which  we  were  perpetually  meeting  and  getting  into,  in 
consequence  of  his  systems  and  opiniatry  —  they  were  of  so  odd,  so 
mix'd  and  tragi-comical  a  contexture  —  That  the  whole  put  to- 
gether, it  appears  of  so  different  a  shade  and  tint  from  any  tour  of 
Europe,  which  was  ever  executed  —  that  I  will  venture  to  pronounce 

—  the  fault  must  be  mine  and  mine  only  —  if  it  be  not  read  by  all 
travellers  and  travel-readers,  till  travelling  is  no  more,  —  or  which 
comes  to  the  same  point  —  till  the  world,  finally,  takes  it  into  its 
head  to  stand  still. 

But  this  rich  bale  is  not  to  be  open'd  now ;  except  a  small 

thread  or  two  of  it,  merely  to  unravel  the  mystery  of  my  father's 
stay  at  AUXERRE. 

365 


THE   LIFE  AND   OPINIONS 

As  I  have  mentioned  it  —  'tis  too  slight  to  be  kept  suspended ; 

and  when  'tis  wove  in,  there  is  an  end  of  it. 

We'll  go,  brother  Toby,  said  my  father,  whilst  dinner  is  coddling 
—  to  the  abby  of  Saint  Germain,  if  it  be  only  to  see  these  bodies, 
of  which  Monsieur  Sequier  has  given  such  a  recommendation.  — 
I'll  go  see  any  body,  quoth  my  uncle  Toby;  for  he  was  all  com- 
pliance through  every  step  of  the  journey Defend  me!  said 

my  father  —  they  are  all  mummies Then  one  need  not  shave ; 

quoth  my  uncle  Toby Shave!  no  —  cried  my  father  —  'twill 

be  more  like  relations  to  go  with  our  beards  on  —  So  out  we  sallied, 
the  corporal  lending  his  master  his  arm,  and  bringing  up  the  rear, 
to  the  abby  of  Saint  Germain. 

Every  thing  is  very  fine,  and  very  rich,  and  very  superb,  and 
very  magnificent,  said  my  father,  addressing  himself  to  the  sacristan, 
who  was  a  younger  brother  of  the  order  of  Benedictines  —  but  our 
curiosity  has  led  us  to  see  the  bodies,  of  which  Monsieur  Sequier 
has  given  the  world  so  exact  a  description.  —  The  sacristan  made 
a  bow,  and  lighting  a  torch  first,  which  he  had  always  in  the  vestry 

ready  for  the  purpose;  he  led  us  into  the  tomb  of  St.  Heribald 

This,  said  the  sacristan,  laying  his  hand  upon  the  tomb,  was  a 
renowned  prince  of  the  house  of  Bavaria,  who  under  the  successive 
reigns  of  Charlemagne,  Louis  le  Debonnair,  and  Charles  the  Bald, 
bore  a  great  sway  in  the  government,  and  had  a  principal  hand  in 
bringing  every  thing  into  order  and  discipline 

Then  he  has  been  as  great,  said  my  uncle,  hi  the  field,  as  in  the 

cabinet 1  dare  say  he  has  been  a  gallant  soldier He  was 

a  monk  —  said  the  sacristan. 

My  uncle  Toby  and  Trim  sought  comfort  in  each  other's  faces  — 
but  found  it  not:  my  father  clapped  both  his  hands  upon  his  cod- 
piece, which  was  a  way  he  had  when  any  thing  hugely  tickled  him : 
for  though  he  hated  a  monk  and  the  very  smell  of  a  monk  worse 

than  all  the  devils  in  hell yet  the  shot  hitting  my  uncle  Toby 

and  Trim  so  much  harder  than  him,  'twas  a  relative  triumph;  and 
put  him  into  the  gayest  humour  in  the  world. 

And  pray  what  do  you  call  this  gentleman?  quoth  my 

father,  rather  sportingly:  This  tomb,  said  the  young  Benedictine, 
looking  downwards,  contains  the  bones  of  Saint  MAXIMA,  who 
came  from  Ravenna  on  purpose  to  touch  the  body 

Of  Saint  MAXIMUS,  said  my  father,  popping  in  with  his 

saint  before  him,  —  they  were  two  of  the  greatest  saints  in  the  whole 

366 


OF   TRISTRAM   SHANDY 

martyrology,  added  my  father Excuse  me,  said  the  sacristan 

'twas  to  touch  the  bones  of  Saint  Germain,  the  builder  of 

the  abby And  what  did  she  get  by  it  ?  said  my  uncle  Toby 

What  does  any  woman  get  by  it  ?  said  my  father MARTYR- 
DOME;  replied  the  young  Benedictine,  making  a  bow  down  to  the 
ground,  and  uttering  the  word  with  so  humble,  but  decisive  a 
cadence,  it  disarmed  my  father  for  a  moment.  'Tis  supposed, 
continued  the  Benedictine,  that  St.  Maxima  has  lain  in  this  tomb 

four  hundred  years,  and  two  hundred  before  her  canonization 

'Tis  but  a  slow  rise,  brother  Toby,  quoth  my  father,  in  this  self- 
same army  of  martyrs. A  desperate  slow  one,  an'  please  your 

honour,  said  Trim,  unless  one  could  purchase 1  should  rather 

sell  out  entirely,  quoth  my  uncle  Toby 1  am  pretty  much  of 

your  opinion,  brother  Toby,  said  my  father. 

Poor  St.  Maximal  said  my  uncle  Toby  low  to  himself,  as 

we  turn'd  from  her  tomb:  She  was  one  of  the  fairest  and  most 
beautiful  ladies  either  of  Italy  or  France,  continued  the  sacristan 

But  who  the  duce  has  got  lam  down  here,  besides  her  ?  quoth 

my  father,  pointing  with  his  cane  to  a  large  tomb  as  we  walked 

on It  is  Saint  Optat,  Sir,  answered  the  sacristan And 

properly  is  Saint  Optat  plac'd!  said  my  father:  And  what  is  Saint 
O plat's  story?  continued  he.  Saint  Optat,  replied  the  sacristan, 
was  a  bishop 

1  thought  so,  by  heaven!  cried  my  father,  interrupting 

him Saint  Optat  how  should  Saint  Optat  fail  ?  so  snatch- 
ing out  his  pocket-book,  and  the  young  Benedictine  holding  him 
the  torch  as  he  wrote,  he  set  it  down  as  a  new  prop  to  his  system 
of  Christian  names,  and  I  will  be  bold  to  say,  so  disinterested  was 
he  in  the  search  of  truth,  that  had  he  found  a  treasure  in  Saint 

0  plat's  tomb,  it  would  not  have  made  him  half  so  rich:  'Twas  as 
successful  a  short  visit  as  ever  was  paid  to  the  dead ;  and  so  highly 
was  his  fancy  pleas'd  with  all  that  had  passed  in  it,  —  that  he 
determined  at  once  to  stay  another  day  in  Auxerre. 

—  I'll  see  the  rest  of  these  good  gentry  to-morrow,  said  my  father, 
as  we  cross'd  over  the  square  —  And  while  you  are  paying  that 
visit,  brother  Shandy,  quoth  my  uncle  Toby  —  the  corporal  and 

1  will  mount  the  ramparts. 


367 


THE   LIFE   AND   OPINIONS 


CHAPTER  XXVIH 


tm's  *s  tne  most  Puzz^  skein  of  all  -  for  in  this 
last  chapter,  as  far  at  least  as  it  has  help'd  me  through 
Auxerre,  I  have  been  getting  forwards  in  two  different  journies 
together,  and  with  the  same  dash  of  the  pen  —  for  I  have  got 
entirely  out  of  Auxerre  in  this  journey  which  I  am  writing  now,  and 
I  am  got  half  way  out  of  Auxerre  in  that  which  I  shall  write  here- 
after -  There  is  but  a  certain  degree  of  perfection  in  every  thing; 
and  by  pushing  at  something  beyond  that,  I  have  brought  myself 
into  such  a  situation,  as  no  traveller  ever  stood  before  me  ;  for  I  am 
this  moment  walking  across  the  market-place  of  Auxerre  with  my 
father  and  my  uncle  Toby,  in  our  way  back  to  dinner  -  and  I 
am  this  moment  also  entering  Lyons  with  my  post-chaise  broke  into 
a  thousand  pieces  —  and  I  am  moreover  this  moment  in  a  handsome 
pavillion  built  by  Pringello,  upon  the  banks  of  the  Garonne,  which 
Mons.  Sligniac  has  lent  me,  and  where  I  now  sit  rhapsodising  all 
these  affairs. 
-  Let  me  collect  myself,  and  pursue  my  journey. 

CHAPTER  XXIX 

I  AM  glad  of  it,  said  I,  settling  the  account  with  myself,  as  I 
walk'd  into  Lyons  -  my  chaise  being  all  laid  higgledy- 
piggledy  with  my  baggage  in  a  cart,  which  was  moving  slowly  before 
me  -  1  am  heartily  glad,  said  I,  that  'tis  all  broke  to  pieces;  for 
now  I  can  go  directly  by  water  to  Avignon,  which  will  carry  me  on  a 
hundred  and  twenty  miles  of  my  journey,  and  not  cost  me  seven 
livres  -  and  from  thence,  continued  I,  bringing  forwards  the 
account,  I  can  hire  a  couple  of  mules  —  or  asses,  if  I  like,  (for 
nobody  knows  me)  and  cross  the  plains  of  Languedoc  for  almost 
nothing  -  1  shall  gain  four  hundred  livres  by  the  misfortune 
clear  into  my  purse:  and  pleasure!  worth  —  worth  double  the  money 
by  it.  With  what  velocity,  continued  I,  clapping  my  two  hands 
together,  shall  I  fly  down  the  rapid  Rhone,  with  the  VTVARES  on  my 
right  hand,  and  DAUPHTNY  on  my  left,  scarce  seeing  the  ancient 
cities  of  VIENNE,  Valence,  and  Vivieres.  What  a  flame  will  it 
rekindle  in  the  lamp,  to  snatch  a  blushing  grape  from  the  Hermitage 
and  Cdte  roti,  as  I  shoot  by  the  foot  of  them  !  and  what  a  fresh  spring 
in  the  blood!  to  behold  upon  the  banks  advancing  and  retiring,  the 

368 


OF   TRISTRAM   SHANDY 

castles  of  romance,  whence  courteous  knights  have  whilome  rescued 

the  distress'd and  see  vertiginous,  the  rocks,  the  mountains, 

the  cataracts,  and  all  the  hurry  which  Nature  is  in  with  all  her  great 
works  about  her. 

As  I  went  on  thus,  methought  my  chaise,  the  wreck  of  which 
look'd  stately  enough  at  the  first,  insensibly  grew  less  and  less  in  its 
size ;  the  freshness  of  the  painting  was  no  more  —  the  gilding  lost 
its  lustre  —  and  the  whole  affair  appeared  so  poor  in  my  eyes  —  so 
sorry!  —  so  contemptible!  and,  in  a  word,  so  much  worse  than  the 
abbess  of  Andoiiillets'  itself  —  that  I  was  just  opening  my  mouth  to 
give  it  to  the  devil  —  when  a  pert  vamping  chaise-undertaker, 
stepping  nimbly  across  the  street,  demanded  if  Monsieur  would 
have  his  chaise  refitted No,  no,  said  I,  shaking  my  head  side- 
ways —  Would  Monsieur  chuse  to  sell  it  ?  rejoined  the  undertaker  — 
With  all  my  soul,  said  I  —  the  iron  work  is  worth  forty  livres  — 
and  the  glasses  worth  forty  more  —  and  the  leather  you  may  take 
to  live  on. 

What  a  mine  of  wealth,  quoth  I,  as  he  counted  me  the  money, 
has  this  post-chaise  brought  me  in  ?  And  this  is  my  usual  method 
of  book-keeping,  at  least  with  the  disasters  of  life  —  making  a  penny 
of  every  one  of  'em  as  they  happen  to  me 

Do,  my  dear  Jenny,  tell  the  world  for  me,  how  I  behaved 

under  one,  the  most  oppressive  of  its  kind,  which  could  befal  me  as 
a  man,  proud  as  he  ought  to  be  of  his  manhood 

'Tis  enough,  saidst  thou,  coming  close  up  to  me,  as  I  stood  with 

my  garters  in  my  hand,  reflecting  upon  what  had  not  pass'd 

'Tis  enough,  Tristram,  and  I  am  satisfied,  saidst  thou,  whispering 
these  words  in  mv  ear  'fc^5^  %%  %%%%  ^t^f^?  %%%%%$£  •  —  ^^t^;^;  $$  %% 

any  other  man  would  have  sunk  down  to  the  center 

Every  thing  is  good  for  something,  quoth  I. 

I'll  go  into  Wales  for  six  weeks,  and  drink  goat's  whey  — 

and  I'll  gain  seven  years  longer  life  for  the  accident.  For  which 
reason  I  think  myself  inexcusable,  for  blaming  fortune  so  often  as 
I  have  done,  for  pelting  me  all  my  life  long,  like  an  ungracious 
duchess,  as  I  call'd  her,  with  so  many  small  evils:  surely,  if  I  have 
any  cause  to  be  angry  with  her,  'tis  that  she  has  not  sent  me  great 
ones  —  a  score  of  good  cursed,  bouncing  losses,  would  have  been  as 
good  as  a  pension  to  me. 

One  of  a  hundred  a  year,  or  so,  is  all  I  wish  —  I  would  not 

be  at  the  plague  of  paying  land-tax  for  a  larger. 

369 


THE   LIFE  AND    OPINIONS 

CHAPTER  XXX 

TO  those  who  call  vexations,  VEXATIONS,  as  knowing  what  they 
are,  there  could  not  be  a  greater,  than  to  be  the  best  part  of  a 
day  at  Lyons,  the  most  opulent  and  flourishing  city  in  France, 
enriched  with  the  most  fragments  of  antiquity  —  and  not  be  able  to 
see  it.     To  be  withheld  upon  any  account,  must  be  a  vexation; 

but  to  be  withheld  by  a  vexation must  certainly  be,  what 

philosophy  justly  calls 

VEXATION 

UPON 

VEXATION 

I  had  got  my  two  dishes  of  milk  coffee  (which  by  the  bye  is 
excellently  good  for  a  consumption,  but  you  must  boil  the  milk  and 
coffee  together  —  otherwise  'tis  only  coffee  and  milk)  —  and  as  it 
was  no  more  than  eight  in  the  morning,  and  the  boat  did  not  go  off 
till  noon,  I  had  time  to  see  enough  of  Lyons  to  tire  the  patience  of 
all  the  friends  I  had  in  the  world  with  it.  I  will  take  a  walk  to  the 
cathedral,  said  I,  looking  at  my  list,  and  see  the  wonderful  mechan- 
ism of  this  great  clock  of  Lippius  of  Basil,  in  the  first  place  — 

Now,  of  all  things  in  the  world,  I  understand  the  least  of  mechan- 
ism  1  have  neither  genius,  or  taste,  or  fancy  —  and  have  a 

brain  so  entirely  unapt  for  every  thing  of  that  kind,  that  I  solemnly 
declare  I  was  never  yet  able  to  comprehend  the  principles  of  motion 
of  a  squirrel  cage,  or  a  common  knife-grinder's  wheel  —  tho'  I  have 
many  an  hour  of  my  life  look'd  up  with  great  devotion  at  the  one  — 
and  stood  by  with  as  much  patience  as  any  Christian  ever  could  do, 
at  the  other 

I'll  go  see  the  surprising  movements  of  this  great  clock,  said  I, 
the  very  first  thing  I  do :  and  then  I  will  pay  a  visit  to  the  great  library 
of  the  Jesuits,  and  procure,  if  possible,  a  sight  of  the  thirty  volumes 
of  the  general  history  of  China,  wrote  (not  in  the  Tartarean,  but) 
in  the  Chinese  language,  and  in  the  Chinese  character  too. 

Now  I  almost  know  as  little  of  the  Chinese  language,  as  I  do  of  the 
mechanism  of  Lippius' s  clock-work;  so,  why  these  should  have 
jostled  themselves  into  the  two  first  articles  of  my  list  —  —  I  leave 
to  the  curious  as  a  problem  of  Nature.  I  own  it  looks  like  one  of 
her  ladyship's  obliquities;  and  they  who  court  her,  are  interested  in 
finding  out  her  humour  as  much  as  I. 

370 


OF   TRISTRAM    SHANDY 

When  these  curiosities  are  seen,  quoth  I,  half  addressing  myself 

to  my  valet  de  place,  who  stood  behind  me 'twill  be  no  hurt  if 

we  go  to  the  church  of  St.  Irenaus,  and  see  the  pillar  to  which 

Christ  was  tied and  after  that,  the  house  where  Pontius  Pilate 

lived —  -'Twas  at  the  next  town,  said  the  valet  de  place  —  at  Vienne; 
I  am  glad  of  it,  said  I,  rising  briskly  from  my  chair,  and  walking 

across  the  room  with  strides  twice  as  long  as  my  usual  pace 

"  for  so  much  the  sooner  shall  I  be  at  the  Tomb  of  the  two  lovers." 

What  was  the  cause  of  this  movement,  and  why  I  took  such  long 

strides  in  uttering  this 1  might  leave  to  the  curious  too;  but  as 

no  principle  of  clock-work  is  concerned  in  it 'twill  be  as  well 

for  the  reader  if  I  explain  it  myself. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

O  THERE  is  a  sweet  sera  in  the  life  of  man,  when  (the  brain 
being  tender  and  fibrillous,  and  more  like  pap  than  any  thing 
else)  —  —  a  story  read  of  two  fond  lovers,  separated  from  each  other 

by  cruel  parents,  and  by  still  more  cruel  destiny 

Amandus He 

Amanda She 

each  ignorant  of  the  other's  course, 

He east 

She west 

Amandus  taken  captive  by  the  Turks,  and  carried  to  the  emperor 
of  Morocco's  court,  where  the  princess  of  Morocco  falling  in  love 
with  him,  keeps  him  twenty  years  in  prison  for  the  love  of  his 

Amanda. 

She  —  (Amanda)   all  the  time  wandering  barefoot,  and  with 
dishevell'd  hair,  o'er  rocks  and  mountains,  enquiring  for  Amandus! 

Amandus  I    Amandus  1 — making  every  hill  and  valley  to 

echo  back  his  name 

A  mandus  1    A  mandus  I 

at  every  town  and  city,  sitting  down  forlorn  at  the  gate Has 

Amandus  !  —  has  my  Amandus  enter'd  ? till, going  round, 

and  round,  and  round  the  world chance  unexpected  bringing 

them  at  the  same  moment  of  the  night,  though  by  different  ways, 
to  the  gate  of  Lyons,  their  native  city,  and  each  in  well-known 
accents  calling  out  aloud. 

371 


THE   LIFE   AND    OPINIONS 
Is  Amandus 


T  j      i    still  alive? 

Is  my  Amanda 

they  fly  into  each  other's  arms,  and  both  drop  down  dead  for  joy. 

There  is  a  soft  aera  in  every  gen  tie  mortal's  life,  where  such  a  story 
affords  more  pabulum  to  the  brain,  than  all  the  Frusts,  and  Crusts, 
and  Rusts  of  antiquity,  which  travellers  can  cook  up  for  it. 

'Twas  all  that  stuck  on  the  right  side  of  the  cullender  in  my 

own,  of  what  Spon  and  others,  in  their  accounts  of  Lyons,  had 
strained  into  it;  and  finding,  moreover,  in  some  Itinerary,  but  in 

what  God  knows That  sacred  to  the  fidelity  of  Amandus  and 

Amanda,  a  tomb  was  built  without  the  gates,  where,  to  this  hour, 

lovers  called  upon  them  to  attest  their  truths 1  never  could  get 

into  a  scrape  of  that  kind  in  my  life,  but  this  tomb  of  the  lovers  would, 
somehow  or  other,  come  in  at  the  close  —  —  nay  such  a  kind  of  em- 
pire had  it  established  over  me,  that  I  could  seldom  think  or  speak 
of  Lyons  —  and  sometimes  not  so  much  as  see  even  a  Lyons-waist- 
coat, but  this  remnant  of  antiquity  would  present  itself  to  my  fancy; 
and  I  have  often  said  in  my  wild  way  of  running  on  —  —  tho'  I  fear 

with  some  irreverence "  I  thought  this  shrine  (neglected  as  it 

was)  as  valuable  as  that  of  Mecca,  and  so  little  short,  except  in 
wealth,  of  the  Santa  Casa  itself,  that  some  time  or  other,  I  would  go 
a  pilgrimage  (though  I  had  no  other  business  at  Lyons)  on  purpose 
to  pay  it  a  visit." 

In  my  list,  therefore,  of  Videnda  at  Lyons,  this,  tho'  last,  —  was 
not,  you  see,  least;  so  taking  a  dozen  or  two  of  longer  strides  than 
usual  across  my  room,  just  whilst  it  passed  my  brain,  I  walked  down 
calmly  into  the  Basse  Cour,  in  order  to  sally  forth;  and  having  called 
for  my  bill  —  as  it  was  uncertain  whether  I  should  return  to  my  inn, 

I  had  paid  it had  moreover  given  the  maid  ten  sous,  and  was 

just  receiving  the  dernier  compliments  of  Monsieur  Le  Blanc,  for  a 

pleasant  voyage  down  the  Rhdne when  I  was  stopped  at  the 

gate 

CHAPTER   XXXII 

(WAS  by  a  poor  ass,  who  had  just  turned  in  with  a  couple 
of  large  panniers  upon  his  back,  to  collect  eleemosynary 
turnip-tops  and  cabbage-leaves;  and  stood  dubious,  with  his  two 
fore-feet  on  the  inside  of  the  threshold,  and  with  his  two  hinder  feet 
towards  the  street,  as  not  knowing  very  well  whether  he  was  to  go  in 
or  no. 

372 


T 


OF  TRISTRAM   SHANDY 

Now,  'tis  an  animal  (be  in  what  hurry  I  may)  I  cannot  bear  to 

strike there  is  a  patient  endurance  of  sufferings,  wrote  so  una- 

affectedly  in  his  looks  and  carriage,  which  pleads  so  mightily  for 
him,  that  it  always  disarms  me;  and  to  that  degree,  that  I  do  not 
like  to  speak  unkindly  to  him:  on  the  contrary,  meet  him  where  I 
will  —  whether  in  town  or  country  —  in  cart  or  under  panniers  — 

whether  in  liberty  or  bondage 1  have  ever  something  civil  to 

say  to  him  on  my  part;  and  as  one  word  begets  another  (if  he  has  as 

little  to  do  as  I) 1  generally  fall  into  conversation  with  him;  and 

surely  never  is  my  imagination  so  busy  as  in  framing  his  responses 
from  the  etchings  of  his  countenance  —  and  where  those  carry  me 

not  deep  enough in  flying  from  my  own  heart  into  his,  and 

seeing  what  is  natural  for  an  ass  to  think  —  as  well  as  a  man,  upon 
the  occasion.  In  truth,  it  is  the  only  creature  of  all  the  classes  of  be- 
ings below  me,  with  whom  I  can  do  this :  for  parrots,  jackdaws,  &c. 

1  never  exchange  a  word  with  them nor  with  the  apes, 

&c.,  for  pretty  near  the  same  reason;  they  act  by  rote,  as  the  others 
speak  by  it,  and  equally  make  me  silent:  nay  my  dog  and  my  cat, 

though  I  value  them  both (and  for  my  dog  he  would  speak  if 

he  could)  —  yet  somehow  or  other,  they  neither  of  them  possess 

the  talents  for  conversation 1  can  make  nothing  of  a  discourse 

with  them,  beyond  the  proposition,  the  reply,  and  rejoinder,  which 
terminated  my  father's  and  my  mother's  conversations,  in  his  beds 
of  justice and  those  utter'd there's  an  end  of  the  dialogue 


—  But  with  an  ass,  I  can  commune  for  ever. 

Come,  Honesty  1  said  I, seeing  it  was  impracticable  to  pass 

betwixt  him  and  the  gate art  thou  for  coming  in,  or  going  out? 

The  ass  twisted  his  head  round  to  look  up  the  street 

Well  —  replied  I  —  we'll  wait  a  minute  for  thy  driver: 

He  turned  his  head  thoughtfully  about,  and  looked  wistfully 

the  opposite  way 

I  understand  thee  perfectly,  answered  I If  thou  takest  a 

wrong  step  in  this  affair,  he  will  cudgel  thee  to  death Well!  a 

minute  is  but  a  minute,  and  if  it  saves  a  fellow-creature  a  drubbing, 
it  shall  not  be  set  down  as  ill  spent. 

He  was  eating  the  stem  of  an  artichoke  as  this  discourse  went  on, 
and  in  the  little  peevish  contentions  of  nature  betwixt  hunger  and 
unsavouriness,  had  dropt  it  out  of  his  mouth  half  a  dozen  times, 
and  pick'd  it  up  again God  help  thee,  Jack  I  said  I,  thou  hast 

373 


THE   LIFE   AND    OPINIONS 

a  bitter  breakfast  on' t  —  and  many  a  bitter  day's  labour,  —  and 

many  a  bitter  blow,  I  fear,  for  its  wages 'tis  all  —  all  bitterness 

to  thee,  whatever  life  to  is  others. And  now  thy  mouth,  if  one 

knew  the  truth  of  it,  is  as  bitter,  I  dare  say,  as  soot  —  (for  he  had 
cast  aside  the  stem)  and  thou  hast  not  a  friend  perhaps  in  all  this 

world,  that  will  give  thee  a  macaroon. In  saying  this,  I  pull'd 

out  a  paper  of  'em,  which  I  had  just  purchased,  and  gave  him  one  — 
and  at  this  moment  that  I  am  telling  it,  my  heart  smites  me,  that 
there  was  more  of  pleasantry  in  the  conceit,  of  seeing  how  an  ass 

would  eat  a  macaroon than  of  benevolence  in  giving  him  one, 

which  presided  in  the  act. 

When  the  ass  had  eaten  his  macaroon,  I  press'd  him  to  come 

in the  poor  beast  was  heavy  loaded his  legs  seem'd  to 

tremble  under  him he  hung  rather  backwards,  and  as  I  pull'd 

at  his  halter,  it  broke  short  in  my  hand he  look'd  up  pensive 

in  my  face  —  "  Don't  thrash  me  with  it  —  but  if  you  will,  you 
may" If  I  do,  said  I,  I'll  be  d d. 

The  word  was  but  one-half  of  it  pronounced,  like  the  abbess  of 
Andoiiillets'  —  (so  there  was  no  sin  in  it)  —  when  a  person  coming 
in,  let  fall  a  thundering  bastinado  upon  the  poor  devil's  crupper, 
which  put  an  end  to  the  ceremony. 
Out  upon  it  I 

cried  I but  the  interjection  was  equivocal and,  I  think, 

wrong  placed  too  —  for  the  end  of  an  osier  which  had  started  out 
from  the  contexture  of  the  ass's  pannier,  had  caught  hold  of  my 
breeches  pocket,  as  he  rush'd  by  me,  and  rent  it  in  the  most  disas- 
trous direction  you  can  imagine  —  —  so  that  the 

Out  upon  it  /  in  my  opinion,  should  have  come  in  here but 

this  I  leave  to  be  settled  by 

THE 
REVIEWERS 

OF 
MY  BREECHES, 

which  I  have  brought  over  along  with  me  for  that  purpose. 


374 


OF   TRISTRAM    SHANDY 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

WHEN  all  was  set  to  rights,  I  came  down  stairs  again  into  the 
basse  courwith  my  valet  de  place,  in  order  to  sally  out  towards 
the  tomb  of  the  two  lovers,  &c.  —  and  was  a  second  time  stopp'd 
at  the  gate—  —not  by  the  ass  —  but  by  the  person  who  struck 
him ;  and  who,  by  that  time,  had  taken  possession  (as  is  not  uncom- 
mon after  a  defeat)  of  the  very  spot  of  ground  where  the  ass  stood. 

It  was  a  commissary  sent  to  me  from  the  post-office,  with  a 
rescript  in  his  hand  for  the  payment  of  some  six  livres  odd  sous. 

Upon  what  account  ?  said  I. 'Tis  upon  the  part  of  the  king, 

replied  the  commissary,  heaving  up  both  his  shoulders 

My  good  friend,  quoth  I as  sure  as  I  am  I  —  and  you 


are  you 

—  And  who  are  you?  said  he Don't  puzzle  me; 

said  I. 

CHAPTER  XXXIV 


B 


UT  it  is  an  indubitable  verity,  continued  I,  addressing 
myself  to  the  commissary,  changing  only  the  form  of 

my  asserveration that  I  owe  the  king  of  France  nothing  but 

my  good-will;  for  he  is  a  very  honest  man,  and  I  wish  him  all  health 
and  pastime  in  the  world 

Pardonnez  moi  —  replied  the  commissary,  you  are  indebted  to 
him  six  livres  four  sous,  for  the  next  post  from  hence  to  St.  Fons, 
in  your  route  to  Avignon  —  which  being  a  post  royal,  you  pay 
double  for  the  horses  and  postillion  —  otherwise  'twould  have 
amounted  to  no  more  than  three  livres  two  sous 

But  I  don't  go  by  land ;  said  I. 


You  may  if  you  please;  replied  the  commissary 

Your  most  obedient  servant said  I,  making  him  a  low 

bow 

The  commissary,  with  all  the  sincerity  of  grave  good  breeding  — 

made  me  one,  as  low  again. 1  never  was  more  disconcerted 

with  a  bow  in  my  life. 

The  devil  take  the  serious  character  of  these  people!  quoth 

I  —  (aside)  they  understand  no  more  of  IRONY  than  this 

The  comparison  was  standing  close  by  with  his  panniers  —  but 
something  seal'd  up  my  lips  —  I  could  not  pronounce  the  name  — 

375 


THE   LIFE   AND    OPINIONS 

Sir,  said  I,  collecting  myself  —  it  is  not  my  intention  to  take 
post 

—  But  you  may  —  said  he,  persisting  in  his  first  reply  —  you 
may  take  post  if  you  chuse 

—  And  I  may  take  salt  to  my  pickled  herring,  said  I,  if  I 
chuse 

—  But  I  do  not  chuse  — 

—  But  you  must  pay  for  it,  whether  you  do  or  no.    Aye!  for  the 
salt;  said  I  (I  know) 

—  And  for  the  post  too;  added  he.    Defend  me!  cried  I  — 

I  travel  by  water  —  I  am  going  down  the  Rhone  this  very  after- 
noon —  my  baggage  is  in  the  boat  —  and  I  have  actually  paid  nine 
livres  for  my  passage 

C'est  tout  egal —  'tis  all  one;  said  he. 

Bon  Dieu  I  what,  pay  for  the  way  I  go!  and  for  the  way  I  do  not 
go! 

C'est  tout  egal ;  replied  the  commissary 

The  devil  it  is!  said  I  —  but  I  will  go  to  ten  thousand  Bastiles 


first - 

0  England  1  England  !  thou  land  of  liberty,  and  climate  of  good 
sense,  thou  tenderest  of  mothers  —  and  gentlest  of  nurses,  cried  I, 
kneeling  upon  one  knee,  as  I  was  beginning  my  apostrophe. 

When  the  director  of  Madam  Le  Blanc's  conscience  coming  in 
at  that  instant,  and  seeing  a  person  in  black,  with  a  face  as  pale  as 
ashes,  at  his  devotions  —  looking  still  paler  by  the  contrast  and 
distress  of  his  drapery  —  ask'd,  if  I  stood  in  want  of  the  aids  of  the 
church 

1  go  by  WATER  —  said  I  —  and  here's  another  will  be  for  making 
me  pay  for  going  by  OIL. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

AS  I  perceived  the  commissary  of  the  post-office  would  have  his 
six  livres  four  sous,  I  had  nothing  else  for  it,  but  to  say  some 
smart  thing  upon  the  occasion,  worth  the  money 

And  so  I  set  off  thus: 

And  pray,  Mr.  Commissary,  by  what  law  of  courtesy  is  a 

defenceless  stranger  to  be  used  just  the  reverse  from  what  you  use  a 
Frenchman  in  this  matter? 

3/6 


OF   TRISTRAM   SHANDY 

By  no  means ;  said  he. 

Excuse  me;  said  I  —  for  you  have  begun,  Sir,  with  first  tearing  off 
my  breeches  —  and  now  you  want  my  pocket 

Whereas  —  had  you  first  taken  my  pocket,  as  you  do  with  your 
own  people  —  and  then  left  me  bare  a — 'd  after  —  I  had  been  a 
beast  to  have  complain 'd 

As  it  is 


'Tis  contrary  to  the  law  of  nature. 

'Tis  contrary  to  reason. 

'Tis  contrary  to  the  GOSPEL. 

But  not  to  this said  he  —  putting  a  printed  paper  into  my 

hand, 

PAR  LE  ROY 

'Tis  a  pithy  prolegomenon,  quoth  I  —  and  so  read  on 


By  all  which  it  appears,  quoth  I,  having  read  it  over,  a  little 

too  rapidly,  that  if  a  man  sets  out  in  a  post-chaise  from  Paris  —  he 
must  go  on  travelling  in  one,  all  the  days  of  his  life  —  or  pay  for  it. — 
Excuse  me,  said  the  commissary,  the  spirit  of  the  ordinance  is  this — 
That  if  you  set  out  with  an  intention  of  running  post  from  Paris 
to  Avignon,  &c.,  you  shall  not  change  that  intention  or  mode  of 
travelling,  without  first  satisfying  the  fermiers  for  two  posts  further 
than  the  pkce  you  repent  at  —  and  'tis  founded,  continued  he,  upon 
this,  that  the  REVENUES  are  not  to  fall  short  through  your  -fickleness — 

O  by  heavens!  cried  I  —  if  fickleness  is  taxable  in  France  — 

we  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  make  the  best  peace  with  you  we  can  — 

AND  SO  THE  PEACE  WAS  MADE; 

And  if  it  is  a  bad  one  —  as  Tristram  Shandy  laid  the  corner- 
stone of  it  —  nobody  but  Tristram  Shandy  ought  to  be  hanged. 


377 


THE   LIFE   AND    OPINIONS 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

THOUGH  I  was  sensible  I  had  said  as  many  clever  things 
to  the  commissary  as  came  to  six  livres  four  sous,  yet  I  was 
determined  to  note  down  the  imposition  amongst  my  remarks  before 
I  retired  from  the  place ;  so  putting  my  hand  into  my  coat-pocket  for 
my  remarks  —  (which,  by  the  bye,  may  be  a  caution  to  travellers 
to  take  a  little  more  care  of  their  remarks  for  the  future)  "  my  re- 
marks were  stolen" Never  did  sorry  traveller  make  such  a 

pother  and  racket  about  his  remarks  as  I  did  about  mine,  upon  the 
occasion. 

Heaven!  earth!  sea!  fire!  cried  I,  calling  in  every  thing  to  my  aid 

but  what  I  should My  remarks  are  stolen !  —  what  shall  I 

do? Mr.  Commissary!  pray  did  I  drop  any  remarks,  as  I  stood 

besides  you  ? 


You  dropp'd  a  good  many  very  singular  ones;  replied  he 

Pugh!  said  I,  those  were  but  a  few,  not  worth  above  six  livres  two 

sous  —  but  these  are  a  large  parcel He  shook  his  head 

Monsieur  Le  Blanc  I  Madam  Le  Blanc  I  did  you  see  any  papers  of 
mine?  —  you  maid  of  the  house!  run  up  stairs  —  Francois  I  run  up 
after  her 

—  I  must  have  my  remarks they  were  the  best  remarks, 

cried  I,  that  ever  were  made  —  the  wisest  —  the  wittiest  —  What 
shall  I  do?  —  which  way  shall  I  turn  myself? 

Sancho  Panfa,  when  he  lost  his  ass's  FURNITURE,  did  not  exclaim 
more  bitterly. 

CHAPTER  XXXVH 

WHEN  the  first  transport  was  over,  and  the  registers  of  the 
brain  were  beginning  to  get  a  little  out  of  the  confusion  into 
which  this  jumble  of  cross  accidents  had  cast  them  —  it  then 
presently  occurr'd  to  me,  that  I  had  left  my  remarks  in  the  pocket 
of  the  chaise  —  and  that  in  selling  my  chaise,  I  had  sold  my  remarks 
along  with  it,  to  the  chaise-vamper.  I  leave  this 

void  space  that  the  reader  may  swear  into  it  any  oath  that  he  is 

most  accustomed  to For  my  own  part,  if  ever  I  swore  a  whole 

oath  into  a  vacancy  hi  my  life,  I  think  it  was  into  that  — 
*********,  said  I  —  and  so  my  remarks  through  France,  which 

378 


OF   TRISTRAM    SHANDY 

were  as  full  of  wit,  as  an  egg  is  full  of  meat,  and  as  well  worth  four 
hundred  guineas,  as  the  said  egg  is  worth  a  penny  —  have  I  been 
selling  here  to  a  chaise-vamper  —  for  four  Louis  d'Ors  —  and 
giving  him  a  post-chaise  (by  heaven)  worth  six  into  the  bargain; 
had  it  been  to  Dodsley,  or  Becket,  or  any  creditable  bookseller,  who 
was  either  leaving  off  business,  and  wanted  a  post-chaise  —  or  who 
was  beginning  it  —  and  wanted  my  remarks,  and  two  or  three 

guineas  along  with  them  —  I  could  have  borne  it but  to  a 

chaise-vamper!  —  shew  me  to  him  this  moment,  Franfois,  —  said 
I  —  The  valet  de  place  put  on  his  hat,  and  led  the  way  —  and  I 
pull'd  off  mine,  as  I  pass'd  the  commissary,  and  followed  him. 


CHAPTER  XXXVHI 

T  T  7HEN  we  arrived  at  the  chaise-vamper's  house,  both  the  house 
V  V     and  the  shop  were  shut  up ;  it  was  the  eighth  of  September, 
the  nativity  of  the  blessed  Virgin  Mary,  mother  of  God  — 

Tantarra-ra-tan-tivi the  whole  world  was  gone  out  a 

May-poling  —  frisking  here  —  capering  there nobody  cared 

a  button  for  me  or  my  remarks ;  so  I  sat  me  down  upon  a  bench  by 
the  door,  philosophating  upon  my  condition :  by  a  better  fate  than 
usually  attends  me,  I  had  not  waited  half  an  hour,  when  the  mistress 
came  in  to  take  the  papilliotes  from  off  her  hair,  before  she  went 
to  the  May-poles 

The  French  women,  by  the  bye,  love  May-poles,  a  la  folie  — 

hat  is,  as  much  as  their  matins give  'em  but  a  May-pole, 

whether  in  May,  June,  July,  or  September  —  they  never  count  the 

times down  it  goes 'tis  meat,  drink,  washing,  and  lodging 

to  'em and  had  we  but  the  policy,  an'  please  your  worships 

(as  wood  is  a  little  scarce  in  France),  to  send  them  but  plenty  of 
May-poles 

The  women  would  set  them  up;  and  when  they  had  done,  they 
would  dance  round  them  (and  the  men  for  company)  till  they  were 
all  blind. 

The  wife  of  the  chaise-vamper  stepp'd  in,  I  told  you,  to  take 

the  papilliotes  from  off  her  hair the  toilet  stands  still  for  no 

man  —  so  she  jerk'd  off  her  cap,  to  begin  with  them  as  she  open'd 

the  door,  hi  doing  which,  one  of  them  fell  upon  the  ground J 

instantly  saw  it  was  my  own  writing 

379 


THE   LIFE   AND    OPINIONS 

O  Seigneur!  cried  I  —  you  have  got  all  my  remarks  upon  your 

head,  Madam! J'en  suis  bien  mortifiee,  said  she 'tis  well, 

thinks  I,  they  have  stuck  there  —  for  could  they  have  gone  deeper, 
they  would  have  made  such  confusion  in  a  French  woman's  noddle 
—  She  had  better  have  gone  with  it  unfrizled  to  the  day  of  eternity. 

Tenez  —  said  she  —  so  without  any  idea  of  the  nature  of  my 
suffering,  she  took  them  from  her  curls,  and  put  them  gravely  one 

by  cne  into  my  hat one  was  twisted  this  way another 

twisted  that ey!  by  my  faith;  and  when  they  are  published, 

quoth  I, 

They  will  be  worse  twisted  still. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

AND  now  for  Lippius's  clock!  said  I,  with  the  air  of  a  man, 
who  had  got  thro'  all  his  difficulties nothing  can  prevent 

us  seeing  that,  and  the  Chinese  history,  &c.,  except  the  time,  said 

Franfois for  'tis  almost  eleven  —  Then  we  must  speed  the 

faster,  said  I,  striding  it  away  to  the  cathedral. 

I  cannot  say,  in  my  heart,  that  it  gave  me  any  concern  in  being 
told  by  one  of  the  minor  canons,  as  I  was  entering  the  west  door,  — 
That  Lippius's  great  clock  was  all  out  of  joints,  and  had  not  gone 

for  some  years It  will  give  me  the  more  time,  thought  I,  to 

peruse  the  Chinese  history;  and  besides  I  shah1  be  able  to  give  the 
world  a  better  account  of  the  clock  in  its  decay,  than  I  could  have 
done  in  its  flourishing  condition 

And  so  away  I  posted  to  the  college  of  the  Jesuits. 

Now  it  is  with  the  project  of  getting  a  peep  at  the  history  of 
China  in  Chinese  characters  —  as  with  many  others  I  could  men- 
tion, which  strike  the  fancy  only  at  a  distance ;  for  as  I  came  nearer 
and  nearer  to  the  point  —  my  blood  cool'd  —  the  freak  gradually 
went  off,  till  at  length  I  would  not  have  given  a  cherrystone  to  have 

it  gratified The  truth  was,  my  time  was  short,  and  my 

heart  was  at  the  Tomb  of  the  Lovers 1  wish  to  God,  said  I,  as 

I  got  the  rapper  in  my  hand,  that  the  key  of  the  library  may  be  but 
lost;  it  fell  out  as  well 

For  all  the  JESUITS  had  got  the  cholic  —  and  to  that  degree,  as 
never  was  known  in  the  memory  of  the  oldest  practitioner. 


380 


OF   TRISTRAM    SHANDY 


CHAPTER   XL 

AS  I  knew  the  geography  of  the  Tomb  of  the  Lovers,  as  well  as 
if  I  had  lived  twenty  years  in  Lyons,  namely,  that  it  was  upon 
the  turning  of  my  right  hand,  just  without  the  gate,  leading  to  the 

Fauxbourg  de  Vaise 1  dispatched  Francois  to  the  boat,  that  I 

might  pay  the  homage  I  so  long  ow'd  it,  without  a  witness  of  my 
weakness  —  I  walk'd  with  all  imaginable  joy  towards  the  place 
—  when  I  saw  the  gate  which  intercepted  the  tomb,  my  heart 
glowed  within  me  — 

—  Tender  and  faithful  spirits!  cried  I,  addressing  myself  to 
Amandus  and  Amanda  —  long  —  long  have  I  tarried  to  drop  this 

tear  upon  your  tomb 1  come 1  come 

When  I  came  —  there  was  no  tomb  to  drop  it  upon. 
What  would  I  have  given  for  my  uncle  Toby,  to  have  whistled 
Lillo  bullero! 


CHAPTER   XLI 

NO  matter  how,  or  in  what  mood  —  but  I  flew  from  the  tomb  of 
the  lovers  —  or  rather  I  did  not  fly  from  it  —  (for  there  was  no 
such  thing  existing)  and  just  got  time  enough  to  the  boat  to  save  my 
passage;  —  and  ere  I  had  sailed  a  hundred  yards,  the  Rhdne  and 
the  Sadn  met  together,  and  carried  me  down  merrily  betwixt  them. 

But  I  have  described  this  voyage  down  the  Rhdne,  before  I  made 
it 

So  now  I  am  at  Avignon,  and  as  there  is  nothing  to  see  but 

the  old  house,  in  which  the  duke  of  Ormond  resided,  and  nothing  to 
stop  me  but  a  short  remark  upon  the  place,  hi  three  minutes  you 
will  see  me  crossing  the  bridge  upon  a  mule,  with  Francois  upon  a 
horse  with  my  portmanteau  behind  him,  and  the  owner  of  both, 
striding  the  way  before  us,  with  a  long  gun  upon  his  shoulder,  and 
a  sword  under  his  arm,  lest  peradventure  we  should  run  away  with 

his  cattle.  Had  you  seen  my  breeches  in  entering  Avignon, 

Though  you'd  have  seen  them  better,  I  think,  as  I  mounted  — 
you  would  not  have  thought  the  precaution  amiss,  or  found  in  your 
heart  to  have  taken  it  in  dudgeon ;  for  my  own  part,  I  took  it  most 
kindly;  and  determined  to  make  him  a  present  of  them,  when  we 
got  to  the  end  of  our  journey,  for  the  trouble  they  had  put  him  to,  of 
arming  himself  at  all  points  against  them. 


THE   LIFE   AND    OPINIONS 

Before  I  go  further,  let  me  get  rid  of  my  remark  upon  Avignon, 
which  is  this:  That  I  think  it  wrong,  merely  because  a  man's  hat 
has  been  blown  off  his  head  by  chance  the  first  night  he  comes  to 
Avignon, that  he  should  therefore  say,  "Avignon  is  more  sub- 
ject to  high  winds  than  any  town  in  all  France :"  for  which  reason  I 
laid  no  stress  upon  the  accident  till  I  had  enquired  of  the  master  of 

the  inn  about  it,  who  telling  me  seriously  it  was  so and  hearing, 

moreover,  the  windiness  of  Avignon  spoke  of  in  the  country  about 

as  a  proverb 1  set  it  down,  merely  to  ask  the  learned  what  can 

be  the  cause the  consequence  I  saw  —  for  they  are  all  Dukes, 

Marquisses,  and  Counts,  there the  duce  a  Baron,  in  all  Avig- 
non   so  that  there  is  scarce  any  talking  to  them  on  a  windy  day. 

Prithee,  friend,  said  I,  take  hold  of  my  mule  for  a  moment  — 
for  I  wanted  to  pull  off  one  of  my  jack-boots,  which  hurt  my  heel  — 
the  man  was  standing  quite  idle  at  the  door  of  the  inn,  and  as  I  had 
taken  it  into  my  head,  he  was  someway  concerned  about  the  house 
or  stable,  I  put  the  bridle  into  his  hand  —  so  begun  with  the  boot : 
—  when  I  had  finished  the  affair,  I  turned  about  to  take  the  mule 
from  the  man,  and  thank  him 

But  Monsieur  le  Marquis  had  walked  in 


CHAPTER  XLH 

I  HAD  now  the  whole  south  of  France,  from  the  banks  of  the 
Rhone  to  those  of  the  Garonne,  to  traverse  upon  my  mule 

at  my  own  leisure  —  at  my  own  leisure for  I  had  left  Death, 

the  Lord  knows and  He  only  —  how  far  behind  me  —  —  "  I 

have  followed  many  a  man  thro'  France,  quoth  he  —  but  never  at 

this  mettlesome  rate." Still  he  followed, and  still  I  fled 

him but  I  fled  him  chearfully still  he  pursued  —  —  but, 

like  one  wh ;  pursued  his  prey  without  hope as  he  lagg'd, 

every  step  he  lost,  soften'd  his  looks why  should  I  fly  him 

at  this  rate  ? 

So  notwithstanding  all  the  commissary  of  the  post-office  had 
said,  I  changed  the  mode  of  my  travelling  once  more;  and,  after  so 
precipitate  and  rattling  a  course  as  I  had  run,  I  flattered  my  fancy 
with  thinking  of  my  mule,  and  that  I  should  traverse  the  rich  plains 
of  Languedoc  upon  his  back,  as  slowly  as  foot  could  fall. 

There  is  nothing  more  pleasing  to  a  traveller or  more  ter- 

382 


OF   TRISTRAM    SHANDY 

rible  to  travel-writers,  than  a  large  rich  plain ;  especially  if  it  is  with- 
out great  rivers  or  bridges;  and  presents  nothing  to  the  eye,  but 
one  unvaried  picture  of  plenty:  for  after  they  have  once  told  you, 
that  'tis  delicious !  or  delightful !  (as  the  case  happens)  —  that 
the  soil  was  grateful,  and  that  nature  pours  out  all  her  abundance, 
&c.  .  .  .  they  have  then  a  large  plain  upon  their  hands,  which 
they  know  not  what  to  do  with  —  and  which  is  of  little  or  no  use 
to  them  but  to  carry  them  to  some  town;  and  that  town,  per- 
haps of  little  more,  but  a  new  place  to  start  from  to  the  next  plain 
and  so  on. 

—  This  is  most  terrible  work;  judge  if  I  don't  manage  my  plains 
better. 

CHAPTER  XLIH 

I  HAD  not  gone  above  two  leagues  and  a  half,  before  the  man 
with  his  gun  began  to  look  at  his  priming. 

I  had  three  several  times  loiter'd  terribly  behind ;  half  a  mile  at 
least  every  time;  once,  in  deep  conference  with  a  drum-maker, 
who  was  making  drums  for  the  fairs  of  Baucaira  and  Tarascone  — 
I  did  not  understand  the  principles 

The  second  time,  I  cannot  so  properly  say,  I  stopp'd for 

meeting  a  couple  of  Franciscans  straitened  more  for  time  than 
myself,  and  not  being  able  to  get  to  the  bottom  of  what  I  was  about 
1  had  turn'd  back  with  them 

The  third,  was  an  affair  of  trade  with  a  gossip,  for  a  hand -basket 
of  Provence  figs  for  four  sous;  this  would  have  been  transacted  at 
once;  but  for  a  case  of  conscience  at  the  close  of  it;  for  when  the 
figs  were  paid  for,  it  turn'd  out,  that  there  were  two  dozen  of  eggs 
cover'd  over  with  vine-leaves  at  the  bottom  of  the  basket  —  as  I 
had  no  intention  of  buying  eggs  —  I  made  no  sort  of  claim  of 
them  —  as  for  the  space  they  had  occupied  —  what  signified  it? 
I  had  figs  enow  for  my  money 

—  But  it  was  my  intention  to  have  the  basket  —  it  was  the 
gossip's  intention  to  keep  it,  without  which,  she  could  do  nothing 

with  her  eggs and  unless  I  had  the  basket,  I  could  do  as  little 

with  my  figs,  which  were  too  ripe  already,  and  most  of  'em  burst 
at  the  side:  this  brought  on  a  short  contention,  which  terminated 
in  sundry  proposals,  what  we  should  both  do 

How  we  disposed  of  our  eggs  and  figs,  I  defy  you,  or  the 

383 


THE   LIFE   AND    OPINIONS 

Devil  himself,  had  he  not  been  there  (which  I  am  persuaded  he 
was),  to  form  the  least  probable  conjecture:  You  will  read  the 

whole  of  it not  this  year,  for  I  am  hastening  to  the  story 

of  my  uncle  Toby's  amours  —  but  you  will  read  it  in  the  collection 
of  those  which  have  arose  out  of  the  journey  across  this  plain  — 
and  which,  therefore,  I  call  my 

PLAIN  STORIES 

How  far  my  pen  has  been  fatigued,  like  those  of  other  travellers, 
in  this  journey  of  it,  over  so  barren  a  track  —  the  world  must  judge 
—  but  the  traces  of  it,  which  are  now  all  set  o'  vibrating  together 
this  moment,  tell  me  'tis  the  most  fruitful  and  busy  period  of  my 
life;  for  as  I  had  made  no  convention  with  my  man  with  the  gun, 
as  to  time  —  by  stopping  and  talking  to  every  soul  I  met,  who  was 
not  in  a  full  trot  —  joining  all  parties  before  me  —  waiting  for 
every  soul  behind  —  hailing  all  those  who  were  coming  through 
cross-roads  —  arresting  all  kinds  of  beggars,  pilgrims,  fiddlers, 
friars  —  not  passing  by  a  woman  in  a  mulberry-tree  without  com- 
mending her  legs,  and  tempting  her  into  conversation  with  a  pinch 

of  snuff In  short,  by  seizing  every  handle,  of  what  size  or 

shape  soever,  which  chance  held  out  to  me  in  this  journey  —  I 
turned  my  plain  into  a  city  —  I  was  always  in  company,  and  with 
great  variety  too;  and  as  my  mule  loved  society  as  much  as  myself, 
and  had  some  proposals  always  on  his  part  to  offer  to  every  beast  he 
met  —  I  am  confident  we  could  have  passed  through  Pali-Mall 
or  St.  Jameses-Street  for  a  month  together,  with  fewer  adventures  — 
and  seen  less  of  human  nature. 

O!  there  is  that  sprightly  frankness,  which  at  once  unpins  every 
plait  of  a  Languedocian's  dress  —  that  whatever  is  beneath  it,  it 
looks  so  like  the  simplicity  which  poets  sing  of  in  better  days  —  I 
will  delude  my  fancy,  and  believe  it  is  so. 

'Twas  in  the  road  betwixt  Nismes  and  Lund,  where  there  is  the 
best  Muscatto  wine  in  all  France,  and  which  by  the  bye  belongs  to 
the  honest  canons  of  MONTPELLIER  —  and  foul  befal  the  man  who 
has  drank  it  at  their  table,  who  grudges  them  a  drop  of  it. 

The  sun  was  set  —  they  had  done  their  work;  the  nymphs 

had  tied  up  their  hair  afresh  —  and  the  swains  were  preparing  for 

a  carousal my  mule  made  a  dead  point 'Tis  the  fife  and 

tabourin,  said  I I'm  frighten'd  to  death,  quoth  he  —  -  They 

are  running  at  the  ring  of  pleasure,  said  I,  giving  him  a  prick  — 

384 


OF   TRISTRAM    SHANDY 

By  saint  Boogar,  and  all  the  saints  at  the  backside  of  the  door  of 
purgatory,  said  he  —  (making  the  same  resolution  with  the  abbesse 

of  AndouUlets}  I'll  not  go  a  step  further 'Tis  very  well, 

sir,  said  I 1  never  will  argue  a  point  with  one  of  your  family, 

as  long  as  I  live;  so  leaping  off  his  back,  and  kicking  off  one  boot 
into  this  ditch,  and  t'other  into  that  —  I'll  take  a  dance,  said  I  — 
so  stay  you  here. 

A  sun-burnt  daughter  of  Labour  rose  up  from  the  groupe  to 
meet  me,  as  I  advanced  towards  them;  her  hair,  which  was  a  dark 
chesnut  approaching  rather  to  a  black,  was  tied  up  hi  a  knot,  all 
but  a  single  tress. 

We  want  a  cavalier,  said  she,  holding  out  both  her  hands,  as  if  to 
offer  them  —  And  a  cavalier  ye  shall  have ;  said  I,  taking  hold  of 
both  of  them. 

Hadst  thou,  Nannette,  been  array'd  like  a  dutchesse! 
-  But  that  cursed  slit  in  thy  petticoat! 

Nannette  cared  not  for  it. 

We  could  not  have  done  without  you,  said  she,  letting  go  one 
hand,  with  self-taught  politeness,  leading  me  up  with  the  other. 

A  lame  youth,  whom  Apollo  had  recompensed  with  a  pipe,  and 
to  which  he  had  added  a  tabourin  of  his  own  accord,  ran  sweetly 

over  the  prelude,  as  he  sat  upon  the  bank Tie  me  up  this  tress 

instantly,  said  Nannette,  putting  a  piece  of  string  into  my  hand  — 

It  taught  me  to  forget  I  was  a  stranger The  whole  knot  fell 

down  —  We  had  been  seven  years  acquainted. 

The  youth  struck  the  note  upon  the  tabourin  —  his  pipe  followed, 
and  off  we  bounded "the  duce  take  that  slit!" 

The  sister  of  the  youth,  who  had  stolen  her  voice  from  heaven, 
sung  alternately  with  her  brother 'twas  a  Gascoigne  roundelay. 

VIVA  LA  JOIA! 
FIDON  LA  TRISTESSA! 

The  nymphs  join'd  hi  unison,  and  their  swains  an  octave  below 

them 

I  would  have  given  a  crown  to  have  it  sew'd  up  —  Nannette 
would  not  have  given  a  sous  — Viva  la  joia  !  was  in  her  lips  —  Viva 
la  joia!  was  hi  her  eyes.  A  transient  spark  of  amity  shot  across 

the  space  betwixt  us She  look'd  amiable!—  -Why  could  I 

not  live,  and  end  my  days  thus?  Just  Disposer  of  our  joys  and 
sorrows,  cried  I,  why  could  not  a  man  sit  down  in  the  lap  of  content 

385 


LIFE   OF   TRISTRAM    SHANDY 

here and  dance,  and  sing,  and  say  his  prayers,  and  go  to  heaven 

with  this  nut-brown  maid  ?    Capriciously  did  she  bend  her  head  on 

one  side,  and  dance  up  insidious Then  'tis  time  to  dance  off, 

quoth  I;  so  changing  only  partners  and  tunes,  I  danced  it  away 

from  Lunel  to  Montpellier from  thence  to  Pesfnas,  Beziers  — 

I  danced  it  along  through  Narbonne,  Carcasson,  and  Castle  Nau- 
dairy,  till  at  last  I  danced  myself  into  Perdrillo's  pavillion,  where 
pulling  out  a  paper  of  black  lines,  that  I  might  go  on  straight  for- 
wards, without  digression  or  parenthesis,  in  my  uncle  Toby's 

amours 

I  begun  thus 


386 


PAPERS   FROM 

THE 

CITIZEN    OF   THE    WORLD 

BY 

OLIVER   GOLDSMITH 


LETTERS  FROM    A    CITIZEN    OF   THE 

WORLD    TO    HIS    FRIENDS    IN 

THE    EAST 


LETTER  I 
To  Mr. ,  Merchant,  in  London 

INTRODUCTION 

AMSTERDAM. 

SIR,  —  Yours  of  the  i3th  instant,  covering  two  bills,  one  on 
Messrs.  R.  and  D.  value  £478,  ios.,  and  the  other  on  Mr. 
****,  value  £285,  duly  came  to  hand,  the  former  of  which  met  with 
honour,  but  the  other  has  been  trifled  with,  and  I  am  afraid  will  be 
returned  protested. 

The  bearer  of  this  is  my  friend,  therefore  let  him  be  yours.  He 
is  a  native  of  Honan  in  China,  and  one  who  did  me  signal  services, 
when  he  was  a  mandarine,  and  I  a  factor,  at  Canton.  By  frequently 
conversing  with  the  English  there,  he  has  learned  the  language, 
though  he  is  entirely  a  stranger  to  their  manners  and  customs.  I 
am  told  he  is  a  philosopher  —  I  am  sure  he  is  an  honest  man :  that 
to  you  will  be  his  best  recommendation,  next  to  the  consideration  of 
his  being  the  friend  of,  Sir,  yours,  &c. 

LETTER  II 

From  Lien  Chi  Altangi,  to ,  Merchant  in  Amsterdam 

ARRIVAL  OF  THE  CHINESE  PHILOSOPHER  IN  LONDON  —  HIS  MOTIVES 
FOR  THE  JOURNEY  —  SOME  DESCRIPTION  OF  THE  STREETS  AND 
HOUSES 

LONDON. 

FRIEND  OF  MY  HEART,  —  May  the  wings  of  peace  rest  upon  thy 
dwelling,  and  the  shield  of  conscience  preserve  thee  from  vice 
and  misery  I    For  all  thy  favours  accept  my  gratitude  and  esteem, 
the  only  tributes  a  poor  philosophic  wanderer  can  return.     Sure, 

389 


CITIZEN   OF   THE   WORLD 

fortune  is  resolved  to  make  me  unhappy,  when  she  gives  others  a 
power  of  testifying  their  friendship  by  actions,  and  leaves  me  only 
words  to  express  the  sincerity  of  mine. 

I  am  perfectly  sensible  of  the  delicacy  with  which  you  endeavour 
to  lessen  your  own  merit  and  my  obligations.  By  calling  your  late 
instances  of  friendship  only  a  return  for  former  favours,  you  would 
induce  me  to  impute  to  your  justice  what  I  owe  to  your  generosity. 

The  services  I  did  you  at  Canton,  justice,  humanity,  and  my 
office,  bade  me  perform ;  those  you  have  done  me  since  my  arrival  at 
Amsterdam,  no  laws  obliged  you  to,  no  justice  required.  Even 
half  your  favours  would  have  been  greater  than  my  most  sanguine 
expectations. 

The  sum  of  money,  therefore,  which  you  privately  conveyed  into 
my  baggage,  when  I  was  leaving  Holland,  and  which  I  was  ignorant 
of  till  my  arrival  in  London,  I  must  beg  leave  to  return.  You  have 
been  bred  a  merchant,  and  I  a  scholar ;  you  consequently  love  money 
better  than  I.  You  can  find  pleasure  in  superfluity;  I  am  perfectly 
content  with  what  is  sufficient.  Take  therefore  what  is  yours ;  it  may 
give  you  some  pleasure,  even  though  you  have  no  occasion  to  use  it; 
my  happiness  it  cannot  improve,  for  I  have  already  all  that  I  want. 

My  passage  by  sea  from  Rotterdam  to  England  was  more  painful 
to  me  than  all  the  journeys  I  ever  made  on  land.  I  have  traversed 
the  immeasurable  wilds  of  Mogul  Tartary;  felt  all  the  rigours  of 
Siberian  skies;  I  have  had  my  repose  a  hundred  times  disturbed  by 
invading  savages,  and  have  seen,  without  shrinking,  the  desert  sands 
rise  like  a  troubled  ocean  all  around  me.  Against  these  calamities 
I  was  armed  with  resolution;  but  in  my  passage  to  England,  though 
nothing  occurred  that  gave  the  mariners  any  uneasiness,  to  one  who 
was  never  at  sea  before,  all  was  a  subject  of  astonishment  and 
terror.  To  find  the  land  disappear  —  to  see  our  ship  mount  the 
waves,  swift  as  an  arrow  from  the  Tartar  bow  —  to  hear  the  wind 
howling  through  the  cordage  —  to  feel  a  sickness  which  depresses 
even  the  spirits  of  the  brave,  —  these  were  unexpected  distresses, 
and,  consequently,  assaulted  me,  unprepared  to  receive  them. 

You  men  of  Europe  think  nothing  of  a  voyage  by  sea.  With  us 
of  China,  a  man  who  has  been  from  sight  of  land  is  regarded  upon 
his  return  with  admiration.  I  have  known  some  provinces  where 
there  is  not  even  a  name  for  the  ocean.  What  a  strange  people, 
therefore,  am  I  got  amongst,  who  have  founded  an  empire  on  this 
unstable  element,  who  build  cities  upon  billows  that  rise  higher 

390 


Morning. 


CITIZEN   OF   THE   WORLD 

than  the  mountains  of  Tipertala,  and  make  the  deep  more  formid- 
able than  the  wildest  tempest! 

Such  accounts  as  these,  I  must  confess,  were  my  first  motives  for 
seeing  England.  These  induced  me  to  undertake  a  journey  of 
seven  hundred  painful  days,  in  order  to  examine  its  opulence, 
buildings,  sciences,  arts,  and  manufactures  on  the  spot.  Judge, 
then,  how  great  is  my  disappointment  on  entering  London,  to  see 
no  signs  of  that  opulence  so  much  talked  of  abroad:  wherever  I 
turn,  I  am  presented  with  a  gloomy  solemnity  in  the  houses,  the 
streets,  and  the  inhabitants:  none  of  that  beautiful  gilding  which 
makes  a  principal  ornament  in  Chinese  architecture.  The  streets 
of  Nankin  are  sometimes  strewed  with  gold  leaf;  very  different  are 
those  of  London :  in  the  midst  of  their  pavements  a  great  lazy  puddle 
moves  muddily  along;  heavy-laden  machines,  with  wheels  of 
unwieldy  thickness,  crowd  up  every  passage;  so  that  a  stranger, 
instead  of  finding  time  for  observation,  is  often  happy  if  he  has 
time  to  escape  from  being  crushed  to  pieces. 

The  houses  borrow  very  few  ornaments  from  architecture;  their 
chief  decoration  seems  to  be  a  paltry  piece  of  painting,  hung  out  at 
their  doors  or  windows,  at  once  a  proof  of  their  indigence  and 
vanity,  in  each  having  one  of  those  pictures  exposed  to  public  view; 
and  their  indigence  in  being  unable  to  get  them  better  painted.  In 
this  respect,  the  fancy  of  their  painters  is  also  deplorable.  Could 
you  believe  it?  I  have  seen  five  black  lions  and  three  blue  boars 
in  less  than  the  circuit  of  half  a  mile ;  and  yet  you  know  that  animals 
of  these  colours  are  nowhere  to  be  found  except  in  the  wild  imagina- 
tions of  Europe. 

From  these  circumstances  in  their  buildings,  and  from  the  dismal 
looks  of  the  inhabitants,  I  am  induced  to  conclude  that  the  nation 
is  actually  poor;  and  that,  like  the  Persians,  they  make  a  splendid 
figure  everywhere  but  at  home.  The  proverb  of  Xixofou  is,  that  a 
man's  riches  may  be  seen  in  his  eyes :  if  we  judge  of  the  English  by 
this  rule,  there  is  not  a  poorer  nation  under  the  sun. 

I  have  been  here  but  two  days,  so  will  not  be  hasty  in  my  decisions. 
Such  letters  as  I  shall  write  to  Fipsihi  in  Moscow,  I  beg  you'll 
endeavour  to  forward  with  all  diligence;  I  shall  send  them  open,  in 
order  that  you  may  take  copies  or  translations,  as  you  are  equally 
versed  in  the  Dutch  and  Chinese  languages.  Dear  friend,  think  of 
my  absence  with  regret,  as  I  sincerely  regret  yours;  even  while  I 
write,  I  lament  our  separation.  Farewell. 

391 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 


LETTER  III 

From  Lien  Chi  Altangi,  to  the  care  of  Fipsihi,  resident  in  Moscow, 
to  be  forwarded  by  the  Russian  caravan  to  Fum  Hoam,  First  Presi- 
dent of  the  Ceremonial  Academy  at  Pekin,  in  China 

THE  DESCRIPTION  OF  LONDON  CONTINUED  —  THE  LUXURY  OF  THE 
ENGLISH  —  ITS  BENEFITS  —  THE  FINE  GENTLEMAN  —  THE  FINE 
LADY 

THINK  not,  O  them  guide  of  my  youth!  that  absence  can  impair 
my  respect,  or  interposing  trackless  deserts  blot  your  reverend 
figure  from  my  memory.  The  farther  I  travel,  I  feel  the  pain  of 
separation  with  stronger  force ;  those  ties  that  bind  me  to  my  native 
country  and  you,  are  still  unbroken.  By  every  remove,  I  only  drag 
a  greater  length  of  chain. 

Could  I  find  aught  worth  transmitting  from  so  remote  a  region 
as  this  to  which  I  have  wandered,  I  should  gladly  send  it;  but, 
instead  of  this,  you  must  be  contented  with  a  renewal  of  my  former 
professions,  and  an  imperfect  account  of  a  people  with  whom  I 
am  as  yet  but  superficially  acquainted.  The  remarks  of  a  man 
who  has  been  but  three  days  in  the  country,  can  only  be  those 
obvious  circumstances  which  force  themselves  upcn  the  imagina- 
tion. I  consider  myself  here  as  a  newly  created  being,  introduced 
into  a  new  world.  Every  object  strikes  with  wonder  and  surprise. 
The  imagination,  still  unsated,  seems  the  only  active  principle  of 
the  mind.  The  most  trifling  occurrences  give  pleasure,  till  the  gloss 
of  novelty  is  worn  away.  When  I  have  ceased  to  wonder,  I  may 
possibly  grow  wise;  I  may  then  call  the  reasoning  principle  to  my 
aid,  and  compare  those  objects  with  each  other,  which  were  before 
examined  without  reflection. 

Behold  me,  then,  in  London,  gazing  at  the  strangers,  and  they 
at  me.  It  seems  they  find  somewhat  absurd  in  my  figure ;  and  had 
I  been  never  from  home,  it  is  possible  I  might  find  an  infinite 
fund  of  ridicule  in  theirs,  but  by  long  travelling,  I  am  taught  to 
laugh  at  folly  alone,  and  to  find  nothing  truly  ridiculous  but  villainy 
and  vice. 

When  I  had  just  quitted  my  native  country,  and  crossed  the 
Chinese  wall,  I  fancied  every  deviation  from  the  customs  and 
manners  of  China  was  a  departing  from  nature.  I  smiled  at  the 
blue  lips  and  red  foreheads  of  the  Tonguese ;  and  could  hardly  con- 

392 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

tain  when  I  saw  the  Daures  dress  their  heads  with  horns:  the 
Ostiacs  powdered  with  red  earth;  and  the  Calmuck  beauties  tricked 
out  in  all  the  finery  of  sheepskin,  appeared  highly  ridiculous.  But 
I  soon  perceived  that  the  ridicule  lay  not  in  them,  but  in  me;  that 
I  falsely  condemned  others  for  absurdity,  because  they  happened 
to  differ  from  a  standard  originally  founded  in  prejudice  or  par- 
tiality. 

I  find  no  pleasure,  therefore,  in  taxing  the  English  with  depart- 
ing from  nature  in  their  external  appearance,  which  is  all  I  yet 
know  of  their  character:  it  is  possible  they  only  endeavour  to  im- 
prove her  simple  plan,  since  every  extravagance  in  dress  proceeds 
from  a  desire  of  becoming  more  beautiful  than  nature  made  us; 
and  this  is  so  harmless  a  vanity,  that  I  not  only  pardon,  but  approve 
it.  A  desire  to  be  more  excellent  than  others  is  what  actually 
makes  us  so;  and  as  thousands  find  a  livelihood  in  society  by  such 
appetites,  none  but  the  ignorant  inveigh  against  them. 

You  are  not  insensible,  most  reverend  Fum  Hoam,  what  number- 
less trades,  even  among  the  Chinese,  subsist  by  the  harmless  pride 
of  each  other.  Your  nose-borers,  feet-swathers,  teeth-stainers, 
eyebrow -pluckers,  would  all  want  bread,  should  their  neighbours 
want  vanity.  These  vanities,  however,  employ  much  fewer  hands 
in  China  than  hi  England;  and  a  fine  gentleman,  or  a  fine  lady, 
here,  dressed  up  to  the  fashion,  seems  scarcely  to  have  a  single 
limb  that  does  not  suffer  some  distortions  from  art. 

To  make  a  fine  gentleman,  several  trades  are  required,  but  chiefly 
a  barber.  You  have  undoubtedly  heard  of  the  Jewish  champion, 
whose  strength  lay  in  his  hair.  One  would  think  the  English  were 
for  placing  all  wisdom  there.  To  appear  wise,  nothing  more  is 
requisite  here  than  for  a  man  to  borrow  hair  from  the  heads  of  all 
his  neighbours,  and  clap  it,  like  a  bush,  on  his  own.  The  distrib- 
utors of  law  and  physic  stick  on  such  quantities,  that  it  is  almost 
impossible,  even  hi  idea,  to  distinguish  between  the. head  and  the 
hah". 

Those  whom  I  have  been  now  describing  affect  the  gravity  of  the 
lion;  those  I  am  going  to  describe  more  resemble  the  pert  vivacity 
of  smaller  animals.  The  barber,  who  is  still  master  of  the  cere- 
monies, cuts  their  hair  close  to  the  crown;  and  then,  with  a  compo- 
sition of  meal  and  hog's-lard,  plasters  the  whole  hi  such  a  manner 
as  to  make  it  impossible  to  distinguish  whether  the  patient  wears 
a  cap  or  a  plaster:  but,  to  make  the  picture  more  perfectly  striking, 

393 


CITIZEN   OF   THE   WORLD 

conceive  the  tail  of  some  beast,  a  grey-hound's  tail,  or  a  pig's  tail, 
for  instance,  appended  to  the  back  of  the  head,  and  reaching  down 
to  the  place  where  tails  in  other  animals  are  generally  seen  to  begin : 
thus  betailed  and  bepowdered,  the  man  of  taste  fancies  he  improves 
in  beauty,  dresses  up  his  hard-featured  face  in  smiles,  and  attempts 
to  look  hideously  tender.  Thus  equipped,  he  is  qualified  to  make 
love,  and  hopes  for  success  more  from  the  powder  on  the  outside 
of  his  head,  than  the  sentiments  within. 

Yet  when  I  consider  what  sort  of  a  creature  the  fine  lady  is,  to 
whom  he  is  supposed  to  pay  his  addresses,  it  is  not  strange  to  find 
him  thus  equipped  in  order  to  please.  She  is  herself  every  whit 
as  fond  of  powder,  and  tails,  and  hog's-lard,  as  he.  To  speak  my 
secret  sentiments,  most  reverend  Fum,  the  ladies  here  are  horridly 
ugly;  I  can  hardly  endure  the  sight  of  them;  they  no  way  resemble 
the  beauties  of  China:  the  Europeans  have  a  quite  different  idea 
of  beauty  from  us.  When  I  reflect  on  the  small-footed  perfections 
of  an  Eastern  beauty,  how  is  it  possible  I  should  have  eyes  for  a 
woman  whose  feet  are  ten  inches  long?  I  shall  never  forget  the 
beauties  of  my  native  city  of  Nangfew.  How  very  broad  their 
faces;  how  very  short  their  noses;  how  very  little  their  eyes;  how 
very  thin  their  lips;  how  very  black  their  teeth;  the  snow  on  the 
tops  of  Bao  is  not  fairer  than  their  cheeks;  and  their  eyebrows  are 
small  as  the  line  by  the  pencil  of  Quamsi.  Here  a  lady  with  such 
perfections  would  be  frightful.  Dutch  and  Chinese  beauties, 
indeed,  have  some  resemblance,  but  English  women  are  entirely 
different:  red  cheeks,  big  eyes,  and  teeth  of  a  most  odious  white- 
ness, are  not  only  seen  here,  but  wished  for;  and  then  they  have 
such  masculine  feet,  as  actually  serve  some  for  walking ! 

Yet  uncivil  as  Nature  has  been,  they  seem  resolved  to  outdo  her 
in  unkindness :  they  use  white  powder,  blue  powder,  and  black  pow- 
der for  their  hair,  and  a  red  powder  for  the  face  on  some  particular 
occasions. 

They  like  to  have  the  face  of  various  colours,  as  among  the  Tar- 
tars of  Koreki,  frequently  sticking  on,  with  spittle,  little  black 
patches  on  every  part  of  it,  except  on  the  tip  of  the  nose,  which  I 
have  never  seen  with  a  patch.  You'll  have  a  better  idea  of  their 
manner  of  placing  these  spots,  when  I  have  finished  a  map  of  an 
English  face  patched  up  to  the  fashion,  which  shall  shortly  be  sent 
to  increase  your  curious  collection  of  paintings,  medals,  and  mon- 
sters. 

394 


Noon. 


CITIZEN   OF   THE   WORLD 

But  what  surprises  more  than  all  the  rest  is  what  I  have  just  now 
been  credibly  informed  of  by  one  of  this  country.  "  Most  ladies 
here,"  says  he,  "have  two  faces;  one  face  to  sleep  in,  and  another 
to  show  in  company.  The  first  is  generally  reserved  for  the  hus- 
band and  family  at  home;  the  other  put  on  to  please  strangers 
abroad:  the  family  face  is  often  indifferent  enough,  but  the  out- 
door one  looks  something  better;  this  is  always  made  at  the  toilet, 
where  the  looking-glass  and  toad-eater  sit  in  council,  and  settle  the 
complexion  of  the  day." 

I  cannot  ascertain  the  truth  of  this  remark:  however,  it  is  actually 
certain,  that  they  wear  more  clothes  within  doors  than  without; 
and  I  have  seen  a  lady,  who  seemed  to  shudder  at  a  breeze  in  her 
own  apartment,  appear  half  naked  in  the  streets.  Farewell. 


LETTER   IV 
To  the  Same 

ENGLISH    PRIDE  —  LIBERTY  —  AN   INSTANCE     OF     BOTH  —  NEWS- 
PAPERS —  POLITENESS 

THE  English  seem  as  silent  as  the  Japanese,  yet  vainer  than  the 
inhabitants  of  Siam.  Upon  my  arrival  I  attributed  that  re- 
serve to  modesty,  which,  I  now  find,  has  its  origin  in  pride.  Conde- 
scend to  address  them  first,  and  you  are  sure  of  their  acquaintance ; 
stoop  to  flattery,  and  you  conciliate  their  friendship  and  esteem. 
They  bear  hunger,  cold,  fatigue,  and  all  the  miseries  of  life  without 
shrinking;  danger  only  calls  forth  their  fortitude;  they  even  exult 
in  calamity;  but  contempt  is  what  they  cannot  bear.  An  English- 
man fears  contempt  more  than  death;  he  often  flies  to  death  as  a 
refuge  from  its  pressure;  and  dies  when  he  fancies  the  world  has 
ceased  to  esteem  him. 

Pride  seems  the  source  not  only  of  their  national  vices,  but  of 
their  national  virtues  also.  An  Englishman  is  taught  to  love  his 
king  as  his  friend,  but  to  acknowledge  no  other  master  than  the 
laws  which  himself  has  contributed  to  enact.  He  despises  those 
nations  who,  that  one  may  be  free,  are  all  content  to  be  slaves;  who 
first  lift  a  tyrant  into  terror,  and  then  shrink  under  his  power  as  if 
delegated  from  Heaven.  Liberty  is  echoed  in  all  their  assemblies: 
and  thousands  might  be  found  ready  to  offer  up  their  lives  for  the 

395 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

sound,  though  perhaps  not  one  of  all  the  number  understands  its 
meaning.  The  lowest  mechanic,  however,  looks  upon  it  as  his  duty 
to  be  a  watchful  guardian  of  his  country's  freedom,  and  often  uses  a 
language  that  might  seem  haughty,  even  in  the  mouth  of  the  Great 
Emperor  who  traces  his  ancestry  to  the  moon. 

A  few  days  ago,  passing  by  one  of  their  prisons,  I  could  not  avoid 
stopping,  in  order  to  listen  to  a  dialogue  which  I  thought  might  afford 
me  some  entertainment.  The  conversation  was  carried  on  between 
a  debtor,  through  the  grate  of  his  prison,  a  porter,  who  had  stopped 
to  rest  his  burthen,  and  a  soldier  at  the  window.  The  subject  was 
upon  a  threatened  invasion  from  France,  and  each  seemed  extremely 
anxious  to  rescue  his  country  from  the  impending  danger.  "For 
my  part,"  cries  the  prisoner,  "the  greatest  of  my  apprehensions  is 
for  our  freedom;  if  the  French  should  conquer,  what  would  become  of 
English  liberty?  My  dear  friends,  liberty  is  the  Englishman's  pre- 
rogative ;  we  must  preserve  that  at  the  expense  of  our  lives ;  of  that 
the  French  shall  never  deprive  us.  It  is  not  to  be  expected  that  men 
who  are  slaves  themselves  would  preserve  our  freedom  should  they 
happen  to  conquer."  —  "Ay,  slaves,"  cries  the  porter,  "they  are  all 
slaves,  fit  only  to  carry  burthens,  every  one  of  them.  Before  I  would 
stoop  to  slavery,  may  this  be  my  poison,"  (and  he  held  the  goblet  in 
his  hand),  "may  this  be  my  poison  —  but  I  would  sooner  'list  for  a 
soldier." 

The  soldier,  taking  the  goblet  from  his  friend,  with  much  awe, 
fervently  cried  out,  "  It  is  not  so  much  our  liberties,  as  our  religion, 
that  would  suffer  by  such  a  change:  ay,  our  religion,  my  lads.  May 
the  devil  sink  me  into  flames,"  (such  was  the  solemnity  of  his  adju- 
ration), "if  the  French  should  come  over,  but  our  religion  would  be 
utterly  undone!"  —  So  saying,  instead  of  a  libation,  he  applied  the 
goblet  to  his  lips,  and  confirmed  his  sentiments  with  a  ceremony  of 
the  most  persevering  devotion. 

In  short,  every  man  here  pretends  to  be  a  politician ;  even  the  fair 
sex  are  sometimes  found  to  mix  the  severity  of  national  altercation 
with  the  blandishments  of  love,  and  often  become  conquerors,  by 
more  weapons  of  destruction  than  their  eyes. 

This  universal  passion  for  politics  is  gratified  by  Daily  Gazettes, 
as  with  us  in  China.  But  as  in  ours  the  Emperor  endeavours  to 
instruct  his  people,  in  theirs  the  people  endeavour  to  instruct  the 
administration.  You  must  not,  however,  imagine,  that  they  who 
compile  these  papers  have  any  actual  knowledge  of  the  politics,  or 

396 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

the  government,  of  a  state;  they  only  collect  their  materials  from  the 
oracle  of  some  coffee-house,  which  oracle  has  himself  gathered  them 
the  night  before  from  a  beau  at  a  gaming-table,  who  has  pillaged  his 
knowledge  from  a  great  man's  porter,  who  has  had  his  information 
from  the  great  man's  gentleman,  who  has  invented  the  whole  story 
for  his  own  amusement  the  night  preceding. 

The  English,  in  general,  seem  fonder  of  gaining  the  esteem  than 
the  love  of  those  they  converse  with.  This  gives  a  formality  to  their 
amusements:  their  gayest  conversations  have  something  too  wise 
for  innocent  relaxation:  though  in  company  you  are  seldom  dis- 
gusted with  the  absurdity  of  a  fool,  you  are  seldom  lifted  into  rap- 
ture by  those  strokes  of  vivacity,  which  give  instant,  though  not  per- 
manent, pleasure. 

What  they  want,  however,  in  gaiety,  they  make  up  in  politeness. 
You  smile  at  hearing  me  praise  the  English  for  their  politeness;  you 
who  have  heard  very  different  accounts  from  the  missionaries  at 
Pekin,  who  have  seen  such  a  different  behaviour  in  their  merchants 
and  seamen  at  home.  But  I  must  still  repeat  it,  the  English  seem 
more  polite  than  any  of  their  neighbours:  their  great  art  in  this 
respect  lies  in  endeavouring,  while  they  oblige,  to  lessen  the  force  of 
the  favour.  Other  countries  are  fond  of  obliging  a  stranger;  but 
seem  desirous  that  he  should  be  sensible  of  the  obligation.  The 
English  confer  their  kindness  with  an  appearance  of  indifference, 
and  give  away  benefits  with  an  air  as  if  they  despised  them. 

Walking,  a  few  days  ago,  between  an  English  and  a  Frenchman 
in  the  suburbs  of  the  city,  we  were  overtaken  by  a  heavy  shower  of 
rain.  I  was  unprepared ;  but  they  had  each  large  coats,  which  de- 
fended them  from  what  seemed  to  me  a  perfect  inundation.  The 
Englishman,  seeing  me  shrink  from  the  weather,  accosted  me  thus: 
"Psha,  man,  what  dost  shrink  at?  here,  take  this  coat;  I  don't 
wan't  it;  I  find  it  no  way  useful  to  me;  I  had  as  lief  be  without  it." 
The  Frenchman  began  to  show  his  politeness  in  turn.  "  My  dear 
friend,"  cries  he,  "  why  won't  you  oblige  me  by  making  use  of  my 
coat  ?  you  see  how  well  it  defends  me  from  the  rain ;  I  should  not 
choose  to  part  with  it  to  others,  but  to  such  a  friend  as  you  I  could 
even  part  with  my  skin  to  do  him  service." 

From  such  minute  instances  as  these,  most  reverend  Fum  Hoam, 
I  am  sensible  your  sagacity  will  collect  instruction.  The  volume  of 
nature  is  the  book  of  knowledge;  and  he  becomes  most  wise  who 
makes  the  most  judicious  selection.  Farewell. 

397 


CITIZEN   OF   THE   WORLD 

LETTER  V 

To  the  Same 

ENGLISH  PASSION  FOR  POLITICS  —  A  SPECIMEN  OF  A  NEWSPAPER 

CHARACTERISTICS  OF  THE  MANNERS  OF  DIFFERENT  COUNTRIES 

I  HAVE  already  informed  you  of  the  singular  passion  of  this 
nation  for  politics.  An  Englishman,  not  satisfied  with  find- 
ing, by  his  own  prosperity,  the  contending  powers  of  Europe  prop- 
erly balanced,  desires  also  to  know  the  precise  value  of  every  weight 
in  either  scale.  To  gratify  this  curiosity,  a  leaf  of  political  instruc- 
tion is  served  up  every  morning  with  tea.  When  our  politician 
has  feasted  upon  this,  he  repairs  to  a  coffee-house,  in  order  to  rumi- 
nate upon  what  he  has  read,  and  increase  his  collection;  from 
thence  he  proceeds  to  the  ordinary,  enquires  what  news,  and, 
treasuring  up  every  acquisition  there,  hunts  about  all  the  evening 
in  quest  of  more,  and  carefully  adds  it  to  the  rest.  Thus  at  night 
he  retires  home,  full  of  the  important  advices  of  the  day:  when  lo! 
awaking  next  morning,  he  finds  the  instructions  of  yesterday  a 
collection  of  absurdity,  or  palpable  falsehood.  This  one  would 
think  a  mortifying  repulse  in  the  pursuit  of  wisdom ;  yet  our  politi- 
cian, no  way  discouraged,  hunts  on,  in  order  to  collect  fresh  mate- 
rials, and  in  order  to  be  again  disappointed. 

I  have  often  admired  the  commercial  spirit  which  prevails  over 
Europe;  have  been  surprised  to  see  them  carry  on  a  traffic  with 
productions  that  an  Asiatic  stranger  would  deem  entirely  useless. 
It  is  a  proverb  in  China  that  a  European  suffers  not  even  his  spittle 
to  be  lost;  the  maxim,  however,  is  not  sufficiently  strong,  since  they 
sell  even  their  lies  to  great  advantage.  Every  nation  drives  a  con- 
siderable trade  in  this  commodity  with  their  neighbours. 

An  English  dealer  in  this  way,  for  instance,  has  only  to  ascend 
to  his  work-house,  and  manufacture  a  turbulent  speech,  averred 
to  be  spoken  in  the  senate;  or  a  report  supposed  to  be  dropt  at 
court;  a  piece  of  scandal  that  strikes  at  a  popular  mandarine;  or  a 
secret  treaty  between  two  neighbouring  powers.  When  finished, 
these  goods  are  baled  up,  and  consigned  to  a  factor  abroad,  who 
sends  in  return  two  battles,  three  sieges,  and  a  shrewd  letter  filled 
with  dashes blanks,  and  stars  *  *  *  of  great  importance. 

Thus,  you  perceive,  that  a  single  Gazette  is  the  joint  manufacture 
of  Europe;  and  he  who  would  peruse  it  with  a  philosophical  eye, 

398 


CITIZEN   OF   THE   WORLD 

might  perceive  in  every  paragraph  something  characteristic  of  the 
nation  to  which  it  belongs.  A  map  does  not  exhibit  a  more  dis- 
tinct view  of  the  boundaries  and  situation  of  every  country,  than 
its  news  does  a  picture  of  the  genius  and  the  morals  of  its  inhabi- 
tants. The  superstition  and  erroneous  delicacy  of  Italy,  the  for- 
mality of  Spain,  the  cruelty  of  Portugal,  the  fears  of  Austria,  the 
confidence  of  Prussia,  the  levity  of  France,  the  avarice  of  Holland, 
the  pride  of  England,  the  absurdity  of  Ireland,  and  the  national 
partiality  of  Scotland,  are  all  conspicuous  in  every  page. 

But,  perhaps,  you  may  find  more  satisfaction  in  a  real  newspaper, 
than  in  my  description  of  one;  I  therefore  send  a  specimen,  which 
may  serve  to  exhibit  the  manner  of  their  being  written,  and  distin- 
guish the  characters  of  the  various  nations  which  are  united  in  its 
composition. 

NAPLES.  —  We  have  lately  dug  up  here  a  curious  Etruscan 
monument,  broke  in  two  in  the  raising.  The  characters  are  scarce 
visible:  but  Nugosi,  the  learned  antiquary,  supposes  it  to  have  been 
erected  in  honour  of  Picus,  a  Latin  king,  as  one  of  the  lines  may  be 
plainly  distinguished  to  begin  with  a  P.  It  is  hoped  this  discovery 
will  produce  something  valuable,  as  the  literati  of  our  twelve  acade- 
mies are  deeply  engaged  in  the  disquisition. 

PISA.  —  Since  Father  Fudgi,  prior  of  St.  Gilbert's,  has  gone  to 
reside  at  Rome,  no  miracles  have  been  performed  at  the  shrine 
of  St.  Gilbert:  the  devout  begin  to  grow  uneasy,  and  some  begin 
actually  to  fear  that  St.  Gilbert  has  forsaken  them  with  the  reverend 
father. 

LUCCA.  —  The  administrators  of  our  serene  republic  have  fre- 
quent conferences  upon  the  part  they  shall  take  in  the  present  com- 
motions of  Europe.  Some  are  for  sending  a  body  of  their  troops, 
consisting  of  one  company  of  foot  and  six  horsemen,  to  make  a 
diversion  in  favour  of  the  empress-queen;  others  are  as  strenuous 
asserters  of  the  Prussian  interest:  what  turn  these  debates  may 
take,  time  only  can  discover.  However,  certain  it  is,  we  shall  be 
able  to  bring  into  the  field,  at  the  opening  of  the  next  campaign, 
seventy-five  armed  men,  a  commander-in-chief,  and  two  drummers 
of  great  experience. 

SPAIN.  —  Yesterday  the  new  king  showed  himself  to  his  subjects, 
and,  after  having  stayed  half  an  hour  in  his  balcony,  retired  to  the 
royal  apartment.  The  night  concluded,  on  this  extraordinary 
occasion,  with  illuminations  and  other  demonstrations  of  joy. 

399 


CITIZEN   OF   THE   WORLD 

The  queen  is  more  beautiful  than  the  rising  sun,  and  reckoned  one 
of  the  first  wits  in  Europe.  She  had  a  glorious  opportunity  of 
displaying  the  readiness  of  her  invention  and  her  skill  in  repartee, 
lately  at  court.  The  Duke  of  Lerma  coming  up  to  her  with  a  low 
bow  and  a  smile,  and  presenting  a  nosegay  set  with  diamonds, 
"Madame,"  cries  he,  "I  am  your  most  obedient  humble  servant." 
"O,  Sir,"  replies  the  queen,  without  any  prompter,  or  the  least 
hesitation,  "  I'm  very  proud  of  the  very  great  honour  you  do  me." 
Upon  which  she  made  a  low  courtsy,  and  all  the  courtiers  fell 
a-laughing  at  the  readiness  and  the  smartness  of  her  reply. 

LISBON.  —  Yesterday  we  had  an  auto  da  fe,  at  which  were 
burned  three  young  women,  accused  of  heresy,  one  of  them  of  exqui- 
site beauty,  two  Jews,  and  an  old  woman,  convicted  of  being  a 
witch.  One  of  the  friars  who  attended  the  last,  reports,  that  he 
saw  the  devil  fly  out  of  her  at  the  stake  in  the  shape  of  a  flame  of 
fire.  The  populace  behaved  on  this  occasion  with  great  good- 
humour,  joy,  and  sincere  devotion. 

Our  merciful  sovereign  has  been  for  some  time  past  recovered  of 
his  fright:  though  so  atrocious  an  attempt  deserved  to  exterminate 
half  the  nation,  yet  he  has  been  graciously  pleased  to  spare  the  lives 
of  his  subjects,  and  not  above  five  hundred  have  been  broke  upon 
the  wheel,  or  otherwise  executed,  upon  this  horrid  occasion. 

VIENNA.  —  We  have  received  certain  advices  that  a  party  of 
twenty  thousand  Austrians,  having  attacked  a  much  superior  body 
of  Prussians,  put  them  all  to  flight,  and  took  the  rest  prisoners  of 
war. 

BERLIN.  —  We  have  received  certain  advices  that  a  party  of 
twenty  thousand  Prussians,  having  attacked  a  much  superior 
body  of  Austrians,  put  them  to  flight,  and  took  a  great  number  of 
prisoners,  with  their  military  chest,  cannon,  and  baggage. 

Though  we  have  not  succeeded  this  campaign  to  our  wishes,  yet, 
when  we  think  of  him  who  commands  us,  we  rest  in  security:  while 
we  sleep,  our  king  is  watchful  for  our  safety. 

PARIS.  —  We  shall  soon  strike  a  signal  blow.  We  have  seventeen 
flat-bottomed  boats  at  Havre.  The  people  are  in  excellent  spirits, 
and  our  ministers  make  no  difficulty  in  raising  the  supplies. 

We  are  all  undone;  the  people  are  discontented  to  the  last  degree; 
the  ministers  are  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  the  most  rigorous 
methods  to  raise  the  expenses  of  the  war. 

Our  distresses  are  great;  but  Madame  Pompadour  continues  to 

400 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

supply  our  king,  who  is  now  growing  old,  with  a  fresh  lady  every 
night.  His  health,  thank  Heaven,  is  still  pretty  well;  nor  is  he  in 
the  least  unfit,  as  was  reported,  for  any  kind  of  royal  exercitation. 
He  was  so  frightened  at  the  affair  of  Damien,  that  his  physicians 
were  apprehensive  lest  his  reason  should  suffer;  but  that  wretch's 
tortures  soon  composed  the  kingly  terrors  of  his  breast. 

ENGLAND.  —  Wanted  an  usher  to  an  academy.  —  N.  B.  —  He 
must  be  able  to  read,  dress  hair,  and  must  have  had  the  small-pox. 

DUBLIN.  —  We  hear  that  there  is  a  benevolent  subscription  on 
foot  among  the  nobility  and  gentry  of  this  kingdom,  who  are  great 
patrons  of  merit,  in  order  to  assist  Black  and  All  Black,  in  his  con- 
test with  the  Paddereen  mare. 

We  hear  from  Germany  that  Prince  Ferdinand  has  gained  a 
complete  victory,  and  taken  twelve  kettle-drums,  five  standards, 
and  four  waggons  of  ammunition,  prisoners  of  war. 

EDINBURGH.  —  We  are  positive  when  we  say  that  Saunders 
M'Gregor,  who  was  lately  executed  for  horse-stealing,  is  not  a 
Scotsman,  but  born  in  Carrickfergus.  —  Farewell. 


LETTER  XH 

To  the  Same 

THE    FUNERAL    SOLEMNITIES    OF    THE    ENGLISH  —  THEIR    PASSION 
FOR  FLATTERING  EPITAPHS 

FROM  the  funeral  solemnities  of  the  Daures,  who  think  them- 
selves the  politest  people  in  the  world,  I  must  make  a  transi- 
tion to  the  funeral  solemnities  of  the  English,  who  think  themselves 
as  polite  as  they.  The  numberless  ceremonies  which  are  used 
here  when  a  person  is  sick  appear  to  me  so  many  evident  marks 
of  fear  and  apprehension.  Ask  an  Englishman,  however,  whether 
he  is  afraid  of  death,  and  he  boldly  answers  in  the  negative;  but 
observe  his  behaviour  in  circumstances  of  approaching  sickness, 
and  you  will  find  his  actions  give  his  assertions  the  lie. 

The  Chinese  are  very  sincere  in  this  respect;  they  hate  to  die, 
and  they  confess  their  terrors:  a  great  part  of  their  life  is  spent  in 
preparing  things  proper  for  their  funeral.  A  poor  artisan  shall 
spend  half  his  income  in  providing  himself  a  tomb  twenty  years 

401 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

before  he  wants  it;  and  denies  himself  the  necessaries  of  life,  that 
he  may  be  amply  provided  for  when  he  shall  want  them  no  more. 

But  people  of  distinction  in  England  really  deserve  pity,  for  they 
die  in  circumstances  of  the  most  extreme  distress.  It  is  an  estab- 
lished rule,  never  to  let  a  man  know  that  he  is  dying:  physicians  are 
sent  for,  the  clergy  are  called,  and  every  thing  passes  in  silent 
solemnity  round  the  sick-bed.  The  patient  is  in  agonies,  looks 
round  for  pity,  yet  not  a  single  creature  will  say  that  he  is  dying. 
If  he  is  possessed  of  fortune,  his  relations  entreat  him  to  make  his 
will,  as  it  may  restore  the  tranquillity  of  his  mind.  He  is  desired 
to  undergo  the  rites  of  the  church,  for  decency  requires  it.  His 
friends  take  their  leave,  only  because  they  do  not  care  to  see  him  in 
pain.  In  short,  a  hundred  stratagems  are  used  to  make  him  do 
what  he  might  have  been  induced  to  perform  only  by  being  told, 
"Sir,  you  are  past  all  hopes,  and  had  as  good  think  decently  of 
dying." 

Besides  all  this,  the  chamber  is  darkened,  the  whole  house  echoes 
to  the  cries  of  the  wife,  the  lamentations  of  the  children,  the  grief 
of  the  servants,  and  the  sighs  of  friends.  The  bed  is  surrounded 
with  priests  and  doctors  in  black,  and  only  flambeaux  emit  a  yellow 
gloom.  Where  is  the  man,  how  intrepid  soever,  that  would  not 
shrink  at  such  a  hideous  solemnity?  For  fear  of  affrighting  their 
expiring  friends,  the  English  practise  all  that  can  fill  them  with 
terror.  Strange  effect  of  human  prejudice,  thus  to  torture,  merely 
from  mistaken  tenderness! 

You  see,  my  friend,  what  contradictions  there  are  in  the  tempers 
of  those  islanders:  when  prompted  by  ambition,  revenge,  or  disap- 
pointment, they  meet  death  with  the  utmost  resolution:  the  very 
man  who  in  his  bed  would  have  trembled  at  the  aspect  of  a  doctor, 
shall  go  with  intrepidity  to  attack  a  bastion,  or  deliberately  noose 
himself  up  in  his  garters. 

The  passion  of  the  Europeans  for  magnificent  interments,  is 
equally  strong  with  that  of  the  Chinese.  When  a  tradesman  dies, 
his  frightful  face  is  painted  up  by  an  undertaker,  and  placed  in  a 
proper  situation  to  receive  company:  this  is  called  lying  in  state. 
To  this  disagreeable  spectacle  all  the  idlers  in  town  flock,  and  learn 
to  loath  the  wretch  dead  whom  they  despised  when  living.  In  this 
manner,  you  see  some  who  would  have  refused  a  shilling  to  save 
the  life  of  their  dearest  friend,  bestow  thousands  on  adorning  their 
putrid  corpse.  I  have  been  told  of  a  fellow,  who,  grown  rich  by  the 

402 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

price  of  blood,  left  it  in  his  will  that  he  should  lie  in  state;  and  thus 
unknowingly  gibbeted  himself  into  infamy,  when  he  might  have 
otherwise  quietly  retired  into  oblivion. 

When  the  person  is  buried,  the  next  care  is  to  make  his  epitaph: 
they  are  generally  reckoned  best  which  flatter  most;  such  relations, 
therefore,  as  have  received  most  benefits  from  the  defunct,  discharge 
this  friendly  office,  and  generally  flatter  in  proportion  to  their  joy. 
When  we  read  those  monumental  histories  of  the  dead,  it  may  be 
justly  said,  that  "all  men  are  equal  in  the  dust";  for,  they  all  appear 
equally  remarkable  for  being  the  most  sincere  Christians,  the  most 
benevolent  neighbours,  and  the  honestest  men  of  their  time.  To  go 
through  a  European  cemetery,  one  would  be  apt  to  wonder  how 
mankind  could  have  so  basely  degenerated  from  such  excellent 
ancestors.  Every  tomb  pretends  to  claim  your  reverence  and 
regret;  some  are  praised  fcr  piety  in  those  inscriptions,  who  never 
entered  the  temple  until  they  were  dead ;  some  are  praised  for  being 
excellent  poets,  who  were  never  mentioned,  except  for  their  dulness 
when  living;  others  for  sublime  orators,  who  were  never  noted  except 
for  their  impudence;  and  others  still,  for  military  achievements, 
who  were  never  in  any  other  skirmishes  but  with  the  watch.  Some 
even  make  epitaphs  for  themselves,  and  bespeak  the  reader's  good- 
will. It  were  indeed  to  be  wished,  that  every  man  would  early 
learn  this  manner  to  make  his  own;  that  he  would  draw  it  up  in 
terms  as  flattering  as  possible,  and  that  he  would  make  it  the  em- 
ployment of  his  whole  life  to  deserve  it! 

I  have  not  yet  been  in  a  place  called  Westminster  Abbey,  but  soon 
intend  to  visit  it.  There,  I  am  told,  I  shall  see  justice  done  to 
deceased  merit:  none,  I  am  told,  are  permitted  to  be  buried  there, 
but  such  as  have  adorned  as  well  as  improved  mankind.  There, 
no  intruders,  by  the  influence  of  friends  or  fortune,  presume  to  mix 
their  unhallowed  ashes  with  philosophers,  heroes,  and  poets. 
Nothing  but  true  merit  has  a  place  hi  that  awful  sanctuary.  The 
guardianship  of  the  tombs  is  committed  to  several  reverend  priests, 
who  are  never  guilty,  for  a  superior  reward,  of  taking  down  the 
names  of  good  men,  to  make  room  fcr  others  of  equivocal  character, 
nor  ever  profane  the  sacred  walls  with  pageants  that  posterity  can- 
not know,  or  shall  blush  to  own. 

I  always  was  of  opinion,  that  sepulchral  honours  of  this  kind 
should  be  considered  as  a  national  concern,  and  not  trusted  to  the 
care  of  the  priest  of  any  country,  how  respectable  soever:  but  from 

403 


CITIZEN   OF   THE   WORLD 

the  conduct  of  the  reverend  personages,  whose  disinterested  patriot- 
ism I  shall  shortly  be  able  to  discover,  I  am  taught  to  retract  my 
former  sentiments.  It  is  true,  the  Spartans  and  the  Persians  made 
a  fine  political  use  of  sepulchral  vanity:  they  permitted  none  to  be 
thus  interred,  who  had  not  fallen  in  the  vindication  of  their  country. 
A  monument  thus  became  a  real  mark  of  distinction ;  it  nerved  the 
hero's  arm  with  tenfold  vigor,  and  he  fought  without  fear,  who 
only  fought  for  a  grave.  Farewell. 


LETTER  XIII 

To  the  Same 

AN  ACCOUNT  OF  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY  —  [FIRST  APPEARANCE  OF 
THE  "MAN  IN  BLACK  "] 

I  AM  just  returned  from  Westminster  Abbey,  the  place  of 
sepulture  for  the  philosophers,  heroes,  and  kings  of  England. 
What  a  gloom  do  monumental  inscriptions,  and  all  the  venerable 
remains  of  deceased  merit  inspire  ?  Imagine  a  temple  marked  with 
the  hand  of  antiquity,  solemn  as  religious  awe,  adorned  with  all  the 
magnificence  of  barbarous  profusion,  dim  windows,  fretted  pillars, 
long  colonnades,  and  dark  ceilings.  Think,  then,  what  were  my 
sensations  at  being  introduced  to  such  a  scene.  I  stood  in  the 
midst  of  the  temple,  and  threw  my  eyes  round  on  the  walls,  filled 
with  the  statues,  the  inscriptions,  and  the  monuments  of  the  dead. 

Alas!  I  said  to  myself,  how  does  pride  attend  the  puny  child  of 
dust  even  to  the  grave !  Even  humble  as  I  am,  I  possess  more  con- 
sequence in  the  present  scene  than  the  greatest  hero  of  them  all: 
they  have  toiled  for  an  hour  to  gain  a  transient  immortality,  and  are 
at  length  retired  to  the  grave,  where  they  have  no  attendant  but  the 
worm,  none  to  flatter  but  the  epitaph. 

As  I  was  indulging  such  reflections,  a  gentleman  dressed  in  black, 
perceiving  me  to  be  a  stranger,  came  up,  entered  into  conversation, 
and  politely  offered  to  be  my  instructor  and  guide  through  the 
temple.  "If  any  monument,"  said  he,  "should  particularly  excite 
your  curiosity,  I  shall  endeavour  to  satisfy  your  demands."  I 
accepted,  with  thanks,  the  gentleman's  offer,  adding,  that  "I  was 
come  to  observe  the  policy,  the  wisdom,  and  the  justice  of  the 
English,  in  conferring  rewards  upon  deceased  merit.  If  adulation 

404 


CITIZEN   OF   THE   WORLD 

like  this,"  continued  I,  "be  properly  conducted,  as  it  can  no  ways 
injure  those  who  are  flattered,  so  it  may  be  a  glorious  incentive  to 
those  who  are  now  capable  of  enjoying  it.  It  is  the  duty  of  every 
good  government  to  turn  this  monumental  pride  to  its  own  advan- 
tage ;  to  become  strong  in  the  aggregate  from  the  weakness  of  the 
individual.  If  none  but  the  truly  great  have  a  place  hi  this  awful 
repository,  a  temple  like  this  will  give  the  finest  lessons  of  morality, 
and  be  a  strong  incentive  to  true  ambition.  I  am  told,  that  none 
have  a  place  here  but  characters  of  the  most  distinguished  merit." 
The  man  in  black  seemed  impatient  at  my  observations,  so  I  dis- 
continued my  remarks,  and  we  walked  on  together  to  take  a  view 
of  every  particular  monument  in  order  as  it  lay. 

As  the  eye  is  naturally  caught  by  the  finest  objects,  I  could  not 
avoid  being  particularly  curious  about  one  monument,  which 
appeared  more  beautiful  than  the  rest:  "That,"  said  I  to  my  guide, 
"  I  take  to  be  the  tomb  of  some  very  great  man.  By  the  peculiar 
excellence  of  the  workmanship,  and  the  magnificence  of  the  design, 
this  must  be  a  trophy  raised  to  the  memory  of  some  king  who  has 
saved  his  country  from  ruin,  or  lawgiver  who  has  reduced  his  fellow- 
citizens  from  anarchy  into  just  subjection."  —  "  It  is  not  requisite," 
replied  my  companion,  smiling,  "to  have  such  qualifications  in 
order  to  have  a  very  fine  monument  here:  more  humble  abilities 
will  suffice."  —  "What,  I  suppose,  then,  the  gaining  two  or  three 
battles,  or  the  taking  half  a  score  towns  is  thought  a  sufficient 
qualification?"  —  "Gaining  battles,  or  taking  towns,"  replied  the 
man  in  black,  "may  be  of  service;  but  a  gentleman  may  have  a 
very  fine  monument  here  without  ever  seeing  a  battle  or  a  siege."  — 
"  This,  then,  is  the  monument  of  some  poet,  I  presume  —  of  one 
whose  wit  has  gained  him  immortality?"  —  "No,  Sir,"  replied 
my  guide,  "the  gentleman  who  lies  here  never  made  verses;  and 
as  for  wit,  he  despised  it  in  others,  because  he  had  none  himself." 
"Pray  tell  me,  then,  in  a  word,"  said  I,  peevishly,  "what  is  the 
great  man  who  lies  here  particularly  remarkable  for?"  —  "Re- 
markable, Sir?"  said  my  companion;  "why,  Sir,  the  gentleman 
that  lies  here  is  remarkable,  very  remarkable  —  for  a  tomb  in 
Westminster  Abbey."  —  "But,  head  of  my  Ancestors!  how  has  he 
got  here  ?  I  fancy  he  could  never  bribe  the  guardians  of  the  temple 
to  give  him  a  place:  should  he  not  be  ashamed  to  be  seen  among 
company  where  even  moderate  merit  would  look  like  infamy?"  — 
"I  suppose,"  replied  the  man  in  black,  "the  gentleman  was  rich. 

405 


CITIZEN   OF   THE   WORLD 

and  his  friends,  as  is  usual  in  such  a  case,  told  him  he  was  great, 
He  readily  believed  them ;  the  guardians  of  the  temple,  as  they  got 
by  the  self-delusion,  were  ready  to  believe  him  too;  so  he  paid  his 
money  for  a  fine  monument;  and  the  workman,  as  you  see,  has 
made  him  one  of  the  most  beautiful.  Think  not,  however,  that 
this  gentleman  is  singular  in  his  desire  of  being  buried  among  the 
great ;  there  are  several  others  in  the  temple,  who,  hated  and  shunned 
by  the  great  while  alive,  have  come  here,  fully  resolved  to  keep 
them  company  now  they  are  dead." 

As  we  walked  along  to  a  particular  part  of  the  temple,  "  There," 
says  the  gentleman,  pointing  with  his  finger,  "that  is  the  Poet's 
Corner;  there  you  see  the  monuments  of  Shakespear,  and  Milton, 
and  Prior,  and  Drayton."  —  "Drayton!"  I  replied;  "I  never  heard 
of  him  before;  but  I  have  been  told  of  one  Pope  —  is  he  there?" 
—  "It  is  time  enough,"  replied  my  guide,  "these  hundred  years; 
he  is  not  long  dead;  people  have  not  done  hating  him  yet."- 
— "Strange,"  cried  I;  "can  any  be  found  to  hate  a  man  whose 
life  was  wholly  spent  in  entertaining  and  instructing  his  fellow- 
creatures?" —  "Yes,"  says  my  guide,  "they  hate  him  for  that 
very  reason.  There  are  a  set  of  men  called  answerers  of  books, 
who  take  upon  them  to  watch  the  republic  of  letters,  and  distribute 
reputation  by  the  sheet;. they  somewhat  resemble  the  eunuchs  in  a 
seraglio,  who  are  incapable  of  giving  pleasure  themselves,  and 
hinder  those  that  would.  These  answerers  have  no  other  employ- 
ment but  to  cry  out  Dunce  and  Scribbler;  to  praise  the  d6ad,  and 
revile  the  living;  to  grant  a  man  of  confessed  abilities  some  small 
share  of  merit;  to  applaud  twenty  blockheads  in  order  to  gain  the 
reputation  of  candour ;  and  to  revile  the  moral  character  of  the  man 
whose  writings  they  cannot  injure.  Such  wretches  are  kept  hi 
pay  by  some  mercenary  bookseller,  or,  more  frequently,  the  book- 
seller himself  takes  this  dirty  work  off  their  hands,  as  all  that  is 
required  is  to  be  very  abusive  and  very  dull.  Every  poet  of  any 
genius  is  sure  to  find  such  enemies;  he  feels,  though  he  seems  to 
despise  their  malice;  they  make  him  miserable  here,  and  in  the 
pursuit  of  empty  fame,  at  last  he  gains  solid  anxiety." 

"Has  this  been  the  case  with  every  poet  I  see  here?"  cried  I. 
"Yes,  with  every  mother's  son  of  them,"  replied  he,  "except  he 
happened  to  be  born  a  mandarine.  If  he  has  much  money,  he 
may  buy  reputation  from  your  book-answerers,  as  well  as  a  monu- 
ment from  the  guardians  of  the  temple." 

406 


CITIZEN   OF   THE   WORLD 

"  But  are  there  not  some  men  of  distinguished  taste,  as  in  China, 
who  are  willing  to  patronize  men  of  merit,  and  soften  the  rancour 
of  malevolent  dulness?" 

"I  own  there  are  many,"  replied  the  man  in  black;  "but,  alas! 
Sir,  the  book-answerers  crowd  about  them,  and  call  themselves  the 
writers  of  books;  and  the  patron  is  too  indolent  to  distinguish, 
thus  poets  are  kept  at  a  distance,  while  their  enemies  eat  up  all  their 
rewards  at  the  mandarine's  table." 

Leaving  this  part  of  the  temple,  we  made  up  to  an  iron  gate, 
through  which  my  companion  told  me  we  were  to  pass,  in  order 
to  see  the  monuments  of  the  kings.  Accordingly,  I  marched  up 
without  further  ceremony,  and  was  going  to  enter,  when  a  person, 
who  held  the  gate  in  his  hand,  told  me  I  must  pay  first.  I  was 
surprised  at  such  a  demand ;  and  asked  the  man,  whether  the  people 
of  England  kept  a  show?  —  whether  the  paltry  sum  he  demanded 
was  not  a  national  reproach?  —  whether  it  was  not  more  to  the 
honour  of  the  country  to  let  their  magnificence,  or  then*  antiquities, 
be  openly  seen,  than  thus  meanly  to  tax  a  curiosity  which  tended 
to  their  own  honour?  "As  for  your  questions,"  replied  the  gate- 
keeper, "  to  be  sure  they  may  be  very  right,  because  I  don't  under- 
stand them;  but,  as  for  that  there  threepence,  I  farm  it  from  one  — 
who  rents  it  from  another  —  who  hires  it  from  a  third  —  who  leases 
it  from  the  guardians  of  the  temple, —  and  we  all  must  live."  I 
expected,  upon  paying  here,  to  see  something  extraordinary,  since 
what  I  had  seen  for  nothing  filled  me  with  so  much  surprise:  but 
in  this  I  was  disappointed ;  there  was  little  more  within  than  black 
coffins,  rusty  armour,  tattered  standards,  and  some  few  slovenly 
figures  in  wax.  I  was  sorry  I  had  paid,  but  I  comforted  myself 
by  considering  it  would  be  my  last  payment.  A  person  attended 
us,  who,  without  once  blushing,  told  a  hundred  lies:  he  talked  of 
a  lady  who  died  by  pricking  her  finger;  of  a  king  with  a  golden 
head,  and  twenty  such  pieces  of  absurdity.  "Look  ye  there, 
gentlemen,"  says  he,  pointing  to  an  old  oak  chair,  "  there's  a  curi- 
osity for  ye;  in  that  chair  the  kings  of  England  were  crowned:  you 
see  also  a  stone  underneath,  and  that  stone  is  Jacob's  pillow."  I 
could  see  no  curiosity  either  in  the  oak  chair  or  the  stone:  could 
I,  indeed,  behold  one  of  the  old  kings  of  England  seated  in  this,  or 
Jacob's  head  laid  upon  the  other,  there  might  be  something  curious 
in  the  sight;  but  in  the  present  case,  there  was  no  more  reason  for 
my  surprise,  than  if  I  should  pick  a  stone  from  their  streets,  and 

407 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

call  it  a  curiosity,  merely  because  one  of  the  kings  happened  to 
tread  upon  it  as  he  passed  in  a  procession. 

From  hence  our  conductor  led  us  through  several  dark  walks  and 
winding  ways,  uttering  lies,  talking  to  himself,  and  flourishing  a 
wand  which  he  held  in  his  hand.  He  reminded  me  of  the  black 
magicians  of  Kobi.  After  we  had  been  almost  fatigued  with  a 
variety  of  objects,  he  at  last  desired  me  to  consider  attentively  a 
certain  suit  of  armour,  which  seemed  to  show  nothing  remarkable. 
"This  armour,"  said  he,  "belonged  to  General  Monk." — "Very 
surprising  that  a  general  should  wear  armour ! " — "  And  pray,"  added 
he,  "observe  this  cap;  this  is  General  Monk's  cap."  —  "Very 
strange,  indeed,  very  strange,  that  a  general  should  have  a  cap  also! 
Pray,  friend,  what  might  this  cap  have  cost  originally?" —  "That, 
Sir,"  says  he,  "  I  don't  know;  but  this  cap  is  all  the  wages  I  have  for 
my  trouble." — "A  very  small  recompense,  truly,"  said  I.  "Not  so 
very  small,"  replied  he,  "  for  every  gentleman  puts  some  money 
into  it,  and  I  spend  the  money."  —  "What  —  more  money!  still 
more  money!" — "Every  gentleman  gives  something,  Sir." — "I'll 
give  thee  nothing,"  returned  I;  "  the  guardians  of  the  temple  should 
pay  you  your  wages,  friend,  and  not  permit  you  to  squeeze  thus 
from  every  spectator.  When  we  pay  our  money  at  the  door  to  see 
a  show,  we  never  give  more  as  we  are  going  out.  Sure  the  guard- 
ians of  the  temple  can  never  think  they  get  enough.  Show  me  the 
gate ;  if  I  stay  longer  I  may  probably  meet  with  more  of  those  eccle- 
siastical beggars." 

Thus  leaving  the  temple  precipitately,  I  returned  to  my  lodgings, 
in  order  to  ruminate  over  what  was  great,  and  to  despise  what  was 
mean,  in  the  occurrences  of  the  day. 


LETTER  XIV 
To  the  Same 

THE  RECEPTION  OF  THE  CHINESE  PHILOSOPHER  FROM  A  LADY  OF 

DISTINCTION 

I  WAS  some   days  ago  agreeably  surprised  by  a  message  from 
a  lady  of  distinction,  who  sent  me  word,  that  she  most  passion- 
ately desired  the  pleasure  of  my  acquaintance,  and,  with  the  utmost 
impatience,  expected  an  interview.  I  will  not  deny,  my  dear  Finn 

408 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

Hoam,  but  that  my  vanity  was  raised  at  such  an  invitation.  I 
flattered  myself  that  she  had  seen  me  in  some  public  place,  and  had 
conceived  an  affection  for  my  person,  which  thus  induced  her  to 
deviate  from  the  usual  decorums  of  the  sex.  My  imagination 
painted  her  in  all  the  bloom  of  youth  and  beauty.  I  fancied  her 
attended  by  the  Loves  and  Graces;  and  I  set  out  with  the  most 
pleasing  expectations  of  seeing  the  conquest  I  had  made. 

When  I  was  introduced  into  her  apartment,  my  expectations 
were  quickly  at  an  end;  I  perceived  a  little  shrivelled  figure  indo- 
lently reclined  on  a  sofa,  who  nodded,  by  way  of  approbation,  at 
my  approach.  This,  as  I  was  afterwards  informed,  was  the  lady 
herself,  a  woman  equally  distinguished  for  rank,  politeness,  taste, 
and  understanding.  As  I  was  dressed  after  the  fashion  of  Europe, 
she  had  taken  me  for  an  Englishman,  and  consequently  saluted  me 
in  her  ordinary  manner:  but  when  the  footman  informed  her  grace 
that  I  was  the  gentleman  from  China,  she  instantly  lifted  herself 
from  the  couch,  while  her  eyes  sparkled  with  unusual  vivacity. 
"Bless  me!  can  this  be  the  gentleman  that  was  born  so  far  from 
home?  What  an  unusual  share  of  somethingness  in  his  whole 
appearance!  Lord,  how  I  am  charmed  with  the  outlandish  cut 
of  his  face!  how  bewitching  the  exotic  breadth  of  his  forehead! 
I  would  give  the  world  to  see  him  in  his  own  country  dress.  Pray, 
turn  about,  Sir,  and  let  me  see  you  behind.  There,  there's  a 
travelled  air  for  you!  You  that  attend  there,  bring  up  a  plate  of 
beef  cut  into  small  pieces;  I  have  a  violent  passion  to  see  him  eat. 
Pray,  Sir,  have  you  got  your  chop-sticks  about  you?  It  will  be 
so  pretty  to  see  the  meat  carried  to  the  mouth  with  a  jerk.  Pray, 
speak  a  little  Chinese :  I  have  learned  some  of  the  language  myself. 
Lord!  have  you  nothing  pretty  from  China  about  you;  something 
that  one  does  not  know  what  to  do  with?  I  have  got  twenty 
things  from  China  that  are  of  no  use  in  the  world.  Look  at  those 
jars;  they  are  of  the  right  pea-green:  these  are  the  furniture!"  — 
"Dear  Madam,"  said  I,  "these,  though  they  may  appear  fine  in 
your  eyes,  are  but  paltry  to  a  Chinese;  but,  as  they  are  useful 
utensils,  it  is  proper  they  should  have  a  place  in  every  apartment." 
—  "Useful,  Sir!"  replied  the  lady;  "sure  you  mistake;  they  are  of 
no  use  in  the  world."  —  "What!  are  they  not  filled  with  an  infusion 
of  tea,  as  hi  China?"  replied  I.  "Quite  empty  and  useless,  upon 
my  honour,  Sir."  —  "Then  they  are  the  most  cumbrous  and 
clumsy  furniture  in  the  world,  as  nothing  is  truly  elegant  but  what 

409 


CITIZEN   OF   THE   WORLD 

unites  use  with  beauty."  —  "I  protest,"  says  the  lady,  "I  shall 
begin  to  suspect  thee  of  being  an  actual  barbarian.  I  suppose 
you  hold  my  two  beautiful  pagods  in  contempt."  —  "What!" 
cried  I,  "  has  Fohi  spread  his  gross  superstitions  here  also  ?  Pagods 
of  all  kinds  are  my  aversion."  —  "A  Chinese,  a  traveller,  and  want 
taste!  it  surprises  me.  Pray,  Sir,  examine  the  beauties  of  that 
Chinese  temple  which  you  see  at  the  end  of  the  garden.  Is  there 
any  thing  in  China  more  beautiful?"  —  "Where  I  stand,  I  see 
nothing,  Madam,  at  the  end  of  the  garden,  that  may  not  as  well 
be  called  an  Egyptian  pyramid  as  a  Chinese  temple;  for  that  little 
building  in  view  is  as  like  the  one  as  t'other."  —  "What,  Sir!  is  not 
that  a  Chinese  temple  ?  you  must  surely  be  mistaken.  Mr.  Freeze, 
who  designed  it,  calls  it  one,  and  nobody  disputes  his  pretensions 
to  taste."  I  now  found  it  vain  to  contradict  the  lady  in  any  thing 
she  thought  fit  to  advance ;  so  was  resolved  rather  to  act  the  disciple 
than  the  instructor.  She  took  me  through  several  rooms,  all 
furnished  as  she  told  me,  in  the  Chinese  manner;  sprawling  dra- 
gons, squatting  pagods,  and  clumsy  mandarines,  were  stuck  upon 
every  shelf:  in  turning  round,  one  must  have  used  caution  not  to 
demolish  a  part  of  the  precarious  furniture. 

In  a  house  like  this,  thought  I,  one  must  live  continually  upon 
the  watch:  the  inhabitant  must  resemble  a  knight  in  an  enchanted 
castle,  who  expects  to  meet  an  adventure  at  every  turning.  "  But, 
Madam,"  said  I,  "do  not  accidents  ever  happen  to  all  this  finery?" 
—  "Man,  Sir,"  replied  the  lady,  "is  born  to  misfortunes,  and  it 
is  but  fit  I  should  have  a  share.  Three  weeks  ago,  a  careless  ser- 
vant snapped  off  the  head  of  a  favourite  mandarine:  I  had  scarce 
done  grieving  for  that,  when  a  monkey  broke  a  beautiful  jar; 
this  I  took  the  more  to  heart,  as  the  injury  was  done  me  by  a  friend. 
However,  I  survived  the  calamity;  when  yesterday  crash  went 
half  a  dozen  dragons  upon  the  marble  hearth-stone :  and  yet  I  live ; 
I  survive  it  all :  you  can't  conceive  what  comfort  I  find  under  afflic- 
tions from  philosophy.  There  is  Seneca,  and  Bolingbroke,  and 
some  others,  who  guide  me  through  life,  and  teach  me  to  support 
its  calamities."  I  could  not  but  smile  at  a  woman  who  makes  her 
own  misfortunes,  and  then  deplores  the  miseries  of  her  situation. 
Wherefore,  tired  of  acting  with  dissimulation,  and  willing  to  indulge 
my  meditations  in  solitude,  I  took  leave  just  as  the  servant  was 
bringing  in  a  plate  of  beef,  pursuant  to  the  directions  of  his  mistress. 
Adieu. 

410 


CITIZEN   OF   THE   WORLD 

LETTER   XXI 

To  the  Same 

THE  PHILOSOPHER  GOES  TO  SEE  A  PLAY 

THE  English  are  as  fond  of  seeing  plays  acted  as  the  Chinese; 
but  there  is  a  vast  difference  in  the  manner  of  conducting 
them.  We  play  our  pieces  in  the  open  air,  the  English  theirs  under 
cover ;  we  act  by  daylight,  they  by  the  blaze  of  torches.  One  of  our 
plays  continues  eight  or  ten  days  successively;  an  English  piece 
seldom  takes  up  above  four  hours  in  the  representation. 

My  companion  in  black,  with  whom  I  am  now  beginning  to  con- 
tract an  intimacy,  introduced  me  a  few  nights  ago  to  the  playhouse, 
where  we  placed  ourselves  conveniently  at  the  foot  of  the  stage. 
As  the  curtain  was  riot  drawn  before  my  arrival,  I  had  an  opportu- 
nity of  observing  the  behaviour  of  the  spectators,  and  indulging 
those  reflections  which  novelty  generally  inspires. 

The  rich  in  general  were  placed  in  the  lowest  seats,  and  the  poor 
rose  above  them  in  degrees  proportioned  to  their  poverty.  The 
order  of  precedence  seemed  here  inverted;  those  who  were  under- 
most all  the  day,  now  enjoyed  a  temporary  eminence,  and  became 
masters  of  the  ceremonies.  It  was  they  who  called  for  the  music, 
indulging  every  noisy  freedom,  and  testifying  all  the  insolence  of 
beggary  in  exaltation. 

They  who  held  the  middle  region  seemed  not  so  riotous  as  those 
above  them,  nor  yet  so  tame  as  those  below:  to  judge  by  their  looks, 
many  of  them  seemed  strangers  there  as  well  as  myself.  They 
were  chiefly  employed,  during  this  period  of  expectation,  in  eating 
oranges,  reading  the  story  of  the  play,  or  making  assignations. 

Those  who  sat  in  the  lowest  rows,  which  are  called  the  pit, 
seemed  to  consider  themselves  as  judges  of  the  merit  of  the  poet 
and  the  performers;  they  were  assembled  partly  to  be  amused,  and 
partly  to  show  their  taste;  appearing  to  labour  under  that  restraint 
which  an  affectation  of  superior  discernment  generally  produces. 
My  companion,  however,  informed  me,  that  not  one  in  a  hundred  of 
them  knew  even  the  first  principles  of  criticism ;  that  they  assumed 
the  right  of  being  censors  because  there  was  none  to  contradict 
their  pretensions;  and  that  every  man  who  now  called  himself  a 
connoisseur,  became  such  to  all  intents  and  purposes. 

Those  who  sat  in  the  boxes  appeared  in  the  most  unhappy  situa- 

411 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

tion  of  all.  The  rest  of  the  audience  came  merely  for  their  own 
amusement;  these,  rather  to  furnish  out  a  part  of  the  entertain- 
ment themselves.  I  could  not  avoid  considering  them  as  acting 
parts  in  dumb  show  —  not  a  courtesy  or  nod,  that  was  not  all  the 
result  of  art;  not  a  look  nor  a  smile  that  was  not  designed  for  mur- 
der. Gentlemen  and  ladies  ogled  each  other  through  spectacles; 
for,  my  companion  observed,  that  blindness  was  of  late  become 
fashionable;  all  affected  indifference  and  ease,  while  their  hearts  at 
the  same  time  burned  for  conquest.  Upon  the  whole,  the  lights, 
the  music,  the  ladies  in  their  gayest  dresses,  the  men  with  cheerful- 
ness and  expectation  in  their  looks,  all  conspired  to  make  a  most 
agreeable  picture,  and  to  fill  a  heart  that  sympathizes  at  human 
happiness  with  inexpressible  serenity. 

The  expected  time  for  the  play  to  begin  at  last  arrived;  the 
curtain  was  drawn,  and  the  actors  came  on.  A  woman,  who  per- 
sonated a  queen,  came  in  curtseying  to  the  audience,  who  clapped 
their  hands  upon  her  appearance.  Clapping  of  hands  is,  it  seems, 
the  manner  of  applauding  in  England;  the  manner  is  absurd,  but 
every  country,  you  know,  has  its  peculiar  absurdities.  I  was 
equally  surprised,  however,  at  the  submission  of  the  actress,  who 
should  have  considered  herself  as  a  queen,  as  at  the  little  discern- 
ment of  the  audience  who  gave  her  such  marks  of  applause  before 
she  attempted  to  deserve  them.  Preliminaries  between  her  and 
the  audience  being  thus  adjusted,  the  dialogue  was  supported 
between  her  and  a  most  hopeful  youth,  who  acted  the  part  of  her 
confidant.  They  both  appeared  in  extreme  distress,  for  it  seems 
the  queen  had  lost  a  child  some  fifteen  years  before,  and  still  kept  its 
dear  resemblance  next  her  heart,  while  her  kind  companion  bore  a 
part  in  her  sorrows. 

Her  lamentations  grew  loud;  comfort  is  offered,  but  she  detests 
the  very  sound :  she  bids  them  preach  comfort  to  the  winds.  Upon 
this  her  husband  comes  in,  who,  seeing  the  queen  so  much  afflicted, 
can  himself  hardly  refrain  from  tears,  or  avoid  partaking  in  the  soft 
distress.  After  thus  grieving  through  three  scenes,  the  curtain 
dropped  for  the  first  act. 

"Truly,"  said  I  to  my  companion,  "these  kings  and  queens  are 
very  much  disturbed  at  no  very  great  misfortune:  certain  I  am, 
were  people  of  humbler  stations  to  act  in  this  manner,  they  would 
be  thought  divested  of  common  sense."  I  had  scarcely  finished 
this  observation,  when  the  curtain  rose,  and  the  king  came  on  in  a 

412 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

violent  passion.  His  wife  had,  it  seems,  refused  his  proffered  ten- 
derness, had  spurned  his  royal  embrace,  and  he  seemed  resolved 
not  to  survive  her  fierce  disdain.  After  he  had  thus  fretted,  and 
the  queen  had  fretted  through  the  second  act,  the  curtain  was  let 
down  once  more. 

"Now,"  says  my  companion,  "you  perceive  the  king  to  be  a 
man  of  spirit ;  he  feels  at  every  pore :  one  of  your  phlegmatic  sons  of 
clay  would  have  given  the  queen  her  own  way,  and  let  her  come  to 
herself  by  degrees;  but  the  king  is  for  immediate  tenderness,  or 
instant  death:  death  and  tenderness  are  leading  passions  of  every 
modern  buskined  hero;  this  moment  they  embrace,  and  the  next 
stab,  mixing  daggers  and  kisses  in  every  period." 

I  was  going  to  second  his  remarks,  when  my  attention  was 
engrossed  by  a  new  object ;  a  man  came  in  balancing  a  straw  upon 
his  nose,  and  the  audience  were  clapping  their  hands  in  all  the  rap- 
tures of  applause.  "To  what  purpose,"  cried  I,  "does  this  un- 
meaning figure  make  his  appearance  ?  is  he  a  part  of  the  plot  ?  " — 
"Unmeaning  do  you  call  him?"  replied  my  friend  in  black;  "this 
is  one  of  the  most  important  characters  of  the  whole  play;  nothing 
pleases  the  people  more  than  seeing  a  straw  balanced:  there  is  a 
good  deal  of  meaning  in  the  straw:  there  is  something  suited  to 
every  apprehension  in  the  sight;  and  a  fellow  possessed  of  talents 
like  these  is  sure  of  making  his  fortune." 

The  third  act  now  began  with  an  actor  who  came  to  inform  us 
that  he  was  the  villain  of  the  play,  and  intended  to  show  strange 
things  before  all  was  over.  He  was  joined  by  another  who  seemed 
as  much  disposed  for  mischief  as  he:  their  intrigues  continued 
through  this  whole  division.  "If  that  be  a  villain,"  said  I,  "he 
must  be  a  very  stupid  one  to  tell  his  secrets  without  being  asked; 
such  soliloquies  of  late  are  never  admitted  in  China." 

The  noise  of  clapping  interrupted  me  once  more;  a  child  of  six 
years  old  was  learning  to  dance  on  the  stage,  which  gave  the  ladies 
and  mandarines  infinite  satisfaction.  "I  am  sorry,"  said  I,  "to 
see  the  pretty  creature  so  early  learning  so  very  bad  a  trade; 
dancing  being,  I  presume,  as  contemptible  here  as  in  China." — 
"Quite  the  reverse,"  interrupted  my  companion;  "dancing  is  a 
very  reputable  and  genteel  employment  here;  men  have  a  greater 
chance  for  encouragement  from  the  merit  of  their  heels  than  their 
heads.  One  who  jumps  up  and  flourishes  his  toes  three  times 
before  he  comes  to  the  ground,  may  have  three  hundred  a  year;  he 

413 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

who  flourishes  them  four  times,  gets  four  hundred;  but  he  who 
arrives  at  five  is  inestimable,  and  may  demand  what  salary  he 
thinks  proper.  The  female  dancers,  too,  are  valued  for  this  sort 
of  jumping  and  crossing;  and  it  is  a  cant  word  amongst  them,  that 
she  deserves  most  who  shows  highest.  But  the  fourth  act  is  begun ; 
let  us  be  attentive." 

In  the  fourth  act  the  queen  finds  her  long  lost  child,  now  grown 
up  into  a  youth  of  smart  parts  and  great  qualifications;  wherefore 
she  wisely  considers  that  the  crown  will  fit  his  head  better  than  that 
of  her  husband,  whom  she  knows  to  be  a  driveller.  The  king  dis- 
covers her  design,  and  here  comes  on  the  deep  distress :  he  loves  the 
queen,  and  he  loves  the  kingdom;  he  resolves,  therefore,  in  order 
to  possess  both,  that  her  son  must  die.  The  queen  exclaims  at  his 
barbarity,  is  frantic  with  rage,  and  at  length,  overcome  with  sor- 
row, falls  into  a  fit;  upon  which  the  curtain  drops,  and  the  act  is 
concluded. 

"Observe  the  art  of  the  poet,"  cries  my  companion.  "When 
the  queen  can  say  no  more,  she  falls  into  a  fit.  While  thus  her 
eyes  are  shut,  while  she  is  supported  in  the  arms  of  Abigail,  what 
horrors  do  we  not  fancy!  We  feel  it  in  every  nerve:  take  my  word 
for  it,  that  fits  are  the  true  aposiopesis  of  modern  tragedy." 

The  fifth  act  began,  and  a  busy  piece  it  was.  Scenes  shifting, 
trumpets  sounding,  mobs  hallooing,  carpets  spreading,  guards 
bustling  from  one  door  to  another;  gods,  demons,  daggers,  racks, 
and  ratsbane.  But  whether  the  king  was  killed,  or  the  queen  was 
drowned,  or  the  son  was  poisoned,  I  have  absolutely  forgotten. 

When  the  play  was  over,  I  could  not  avoid  observing,  that  the 
persons  of  the  drama  appeared  in  as  much  distress  in  the  first  act 
as  in  the  last.  "How  is  it  possible,"  said  I,  "to  sympathize  with 
them  through  five  long  acts  ?  Pity  is  but  a  short  lived  passion.  I 
hate  to  hear  an  actor  mouthing  trifles.  Neither  startings,  strain- 
ings, nor  attitudes,  affect  me,  unless  there  be  cause:  after  I  have 
been  once  or  twice  deceived  by  those  unmeaning  alarms,  my 
heart  sleeps  in  peace,  probably  unaffected  by  the  principal  distress. 
There  should  be.  one  great  passion  aimed  at  by  the  actor  as  well  as 
the  poet;  all  the  rest  should  be  subordinate,  and  only  contribute  to 
make  that  the  greater;  if  the  actor,  therefore,  exclaims  upon  every 
occasion,  in  the  tones  of  despair,  he  attempts  to  move  us  too  soon; 
he  anticipates  the  blow,  he  ceases  to  affect,  though  he  gains  our 
applause." 

414 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

I  scarce  perceived  that  the  audience  were  almost  all  departed; 
wherefore,  mixing  with  the  crowd,  my  companion  and  I  got  into 
the  street,  where,  essaying  a  hundred  obstacles  from  coach-wheels 
and  palanquin  poles,  like  birds  in  their  flight  through  the  branches 
of  a  forest,  after  various  turnings,  we  both  at  length  got  home  in 
safety.  Adieu. 

LETTER   XXVI 

To  the  Same 

THE  CHARACTER  OF  THE  MAN  IN  BLACK;     WITH  SOME  INSTANCES 
OF  HIS  INCONSISTENT  CONDUCT 

THOUGH  fond  of  many  acquaintances,  I  desire  an  intimacy 
only  with  a  few.  The  man  in  black,  whom  I  have  often  men- 
tioned, is  one  whose  friendship  I  could  wish  to  acquire,  because  he 
possesses  my  esteem.  His  manners,  it  is  true,  are  tinctured  with 
some  strange  inconsistencies,  and  he  may  be  justly  termed  a  hu- 
mourist in  a  nation  of  humourists.  Though  he  is  generous  even  to 
profusion,  he  affects  to  be  thought  a  prodigy  of  parsimony  and  pru- 
dence ;  though  his  conversation  be  replete  with  the  most  sordid  and 
selfish  maxims,  his  heart  is  dilated  with  the  most  unbounded  love. 
I  have  known  him  profess  himself  a  man-hater,  while  his  cheek  was 
glowing  with  compassion;  and,  while  his  looks  were  softened  into 
pity,  I  have  heard  him  use  the  language  of  the  most  unbounded 
ill-nature.  Some  affect  humanity  and  tenderness,  others  boast  of 
having  such  dispositions  from  nature ;  but  he  is  the  only  man  I  ever 
knew  who  seemed  ashamed  of  his  natural  benevolence.  He  takes 
as  much  pains  to  hide  his  feelings,  as  any  hypocrite  would  to  conceal 
his  indifference;  but  on  every  unguarded  moment  the  mask  drops 
off,  and  reveals  him  to  the  most  superficial  observer. 

In  one  of  our  late  excursions  into  the  country,  happening  to  dis- 
course upon  the  provision  that  was  made  for  the  poor  in  England, 
he  seemed  amazed  how  any  of  his  countrymen  could  be  so  foolishly 
weak  as  to  relieve  occasional  objects  of  charity,  when  the  laws  had 
made  much  ample  provision  for  their  support.  "In  every  parish- 
house,"  says  he,  "the  poor  are  supplied  with  food,  clothes,  fire, 
and  a  bed  to  lie  on;  they  want  no  more,  I  desire  no  more  myself; 
yet  still  they  seem  discontented.  I  am  surprised  at  the  inactivity 
of  our  magistrates,  in  not  talking  up  such  vagrants,  who  are  only  a 
weight  upon  the  industrious;  I  am  surprised  that  the  people  are 

415 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

found  to  relieve  them,  when  they  must  be  at  the  same  time  sensible 
that  it,  in  some  measure,  encourages  idleness,  extravagance,  and 
imposture.  Were  I  to  advise  any  man  for  whom  I  had  the  least  re- 
gard, I  would  caution  him  by  all  means  not  to  be  imposed  upon  by 
their  false  pretences:  let  me  assure  you,  Sir,  they  are  imposters, 
every  one  of  them,  and  rather  merit  a  prison  than  relief." 

He  was  proceeding  in  this  strain,  earnestly  to  dissuade  me  from 
an  imprudence  of  which  I  am  seldom  guilty,  when  an  old  man,  who 
still  had  about  him  the  remnants  of  tattered  finery,  implored  our 
compassion.  He  assured  us  that  he  was  no  common  beggar,  but 
forced  into  the  shameful  profession,  to  support  a  dying  wife,  and 
five  hungry  children.  Being  prepossessed  against  such  falsehoods, 
his  story  had  not  the  least  influence  upon  me ;  but  it  was  quite  other- 
wise with  the  man  in  black;  I  could  see  it  visibly  operate  upon  his 
countenance,  and  effectually  interrupt  his  harangue.  I  could  easily 
perceive,  that  his  heart  burned  to  relieve  the  five  starving  children, 
but  he  seemed  ashamed  to  discover  his  weakness  to  me.  While 
he  thus  hesitated  between  compassion  and  pride,  I  pretended  to 
look  another  way,  and  he  seized  this  opportunity  of  giving  the  poor 
petitioner  a  piece  of  silver,  bidding  him  at  the  same  time,  in  order 
that  I  should  hear,  go  work  for  his  bread,  and  not  tease  passengers 
with  such  impertinent  falsehoods  for  the  future. 

As  he  had  fancied  himself  quite  unperceived,  he  continued,  as  we 
proceeded,  to  rail  against  beggars  with  as  much  animosity  as  before ; 
he  threw  in  some  episodes  on  his  own  amazing  prudence  and  econ- 
omy, with  his  profound  skill  in  discovering  imposters ;  he  explained 
the  manner  in  which  he  would  deal  with  beggars  were  he  a  magis- 
trate, hinted  at  enlarging  some  of  the  prisons  for  their  reception, 
and  told  two  stories  of  ladies  that  were  robbed  by  beggarmen.  He 
was  beginning  a  third  to  the  same  purpose,  when  a  sailor  with  a 
wooden  leg  once  more  crossed  our  walks,  desiring  our  pity,  and 
blessing  our  limbs.  I  was  for  going  on  without  taking  any  notice, 
but  my  friend  looking  wishfully  upon  the  poor  petitioner,  bid  me 
stop,  and  he  would  show  me  with  how  much  ease  he  could  at  any 
time  detect  an  impostor. 

He  now,  therefore,  assumed  a  look  of  importance,  and  in  an 
angry  tone  began  to  examine  the  sailor,  demanding  in  what  engage- 
ment he  was  thus  disabled  and  rendered  unfit  for  service.  The 
sailor  replied,  in  a  tone  as  angrily  as  he,  that  he  had  been  an  officer 
on  board  a  private  ship  of  war,  and  that  he  had  lost  his  leg  abroad, 

416 


CITIZEN   OF   THE   WORLD 

in  defence  of  those  who  did  nothing  at  home.  At  this  reply,  all  my 
friend's  importance  vanished  in  a  moment;  he  had  not  a  single 
question  more  to  ask;  he  now  only  studied  what  method  he  should 
take  to  relieve  him  unobserved.  He  had,  however,  no  easy  part  to 
act,  as  he  was  obliged  to  preserve  the  appearance  of  ill-nature  before 
me,  and  yet  relieve  himself  by  relieving  the  sailor.  Casting,  there- 
fore, a  furious  look  upon  some  bundles  of  chips  which  the  fellow 
carried  in  a  string  at  his  back,  my  friend  demanded  how  he  sold  his 
matches;  but,  not  waiting  for  a  reply,  desired,  in  a  surly  tone,  to 
have  a  shilling's  worth.  The  sailor  seemed  at  first  surprised  at  his 
demand,  but  soon  recollected  himself,  and  presenting  his  whole 
bundle,  "Here,  master,"  says  he,  "take  all  my  cargo,  and  a  blessing 
into  the  bargain." 

It  is  impossible  to  describe  with  what  an  air  of  triumph  my  friend 
marched  off  with  his  new  purchase:  he  assured  me,  that  he  was 
firmly  of  opinion  that  those  fellows  must  have  stolen  their  goods, 
who  could  thus  afford  to  sell  them  for  half  value.  He  informed  me 
of  several  different  uses  to  which  those  chips  might  be  applied;  he 
expatiated  largely  upon  the  savings  that  would  result  from  lighting 
candles  with  a  match,  instead  of  thrusting  them  into  the  fire.  He 
averred,  that  he  would  as  soon  have  parted  with  a  tooth  as  his  money 
to  those  vagabonds,  unless  for  some  valuable  consideration.  I  can- 
not tell  how  long  this  panegyric  upon  frugality  and  matches  might 
have  continued,  had  not  his  attention  been  called  off  by  another 
object  more  distressful  than  either  of  the  former.  A  woman  in 
rags,  with  one  child  in  her  arms,  and  another  on  her  back,  was  at- 
tempting to  sing  ballads,  but  with  such  a  mournful  voice,  that  it  was 
difficult  to  determine  whether  she  was  singing  or  crying.  A  wretch, 
who  in  the  deepest  distress  still  aimed  at  good-humour,  was  an 
object  my  friend  was  by  no  means  capable  of  withstanding :  his  viva- 
city and  his  discourse  were  instantly  interrupted;  upon  this  occa- 
sion, his  very  dissimulation  had  forsaken  him.  Even  hi  my  pres- 
ence he  immediately  applied  his  hands  to  his  pockets,  in  order  to 
relieve  her;  but  guess  his  confusion  when  he  found  he  had  already 
given  away  all  the  money  he  carried  about  him  to  former  objects. 
The  misery  painted  in  the  woman's  visage  was  not  half  so  strongly 
expressed  as  the  agony  in  his.  He  continued  to  search  for  some 
time,  but  to  no  purpose,  till,  at  length  recollecting  himself,  with  a 
face  of  ineffable  good -nature,  as  he  had  no  money,  he  put  into  her 
hands  his  shilling's  worth  of  matches. 

417 


CITIZEN    OF   THE    WORLD 

LETTER  XXVII 

To  the  Same 

THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  MAN  IN  BLACK 

AS  there  appeared  something  reluctantly  good  in  the  character 
of  my  companion,  I  must  own  it  surprised  me  what  could  be 
his  motives  for  thus  concealing  virtues  which  others  take  such 
pains  to  display.  I  was  unable  to  repress  my  desire  of  knowing 
the  history  of  a  man  who  thus  seemed  to  act  under  continual 
restraint,  and  whose  benevolence  was  rather  the  effect  of  appetite 
than  reason. 

It  was  not,  however,  till  after  repeated  solicitations  he  thought 
proper  to  gratify  my  curiosity.  "If  you  are  fond,"  says  he,  "of 
hearing  hairbreadth  'scapes,  my  history  must  certainly  please; 
for  I  have  been  for  twenty  years  upon  the  very  verge  of  starving, 
without  ever  being  starved. 

"My  father,  the  younger  son  of  a  good  family,  was  possessed 
of  a  small  living  in  the  church.  His  education  was  above  his 
fortune,  and  his  generosity  greater  than  his  education.  Poor  as 
he  was,  he  had  his  flatterers  still  poorer  than  himself;  for  every 
dinner  he  gave  them,  they  returned  an  equivalent  in  praise;  and 
this  was  all  he  wanted.  The  same  ambition  that  actuates  a  mon- 
arch at  the  head  of  an  army,  influenced  my  father  at  the  head  of 
his  table.  He  told  the  story  of  the  ivy-tree,  and  that  was  laughed 
at;  he  repeated  the  jest  of  the  two  scholars  and  one  pair  of  breeches, 
and  the  company  laughed  at  tha*-  but  the  story  of  Taffy  in  the 
sedan-chair,  was  sure  to  set  the  table  in  a  roar.  Thus  his  pleasure 
increased  in  proportion  to  the  pleasure  he  gave;  he  loved  all  the 
world,  and  he  fancied  all  the  world  loved  him. 

"  As  his  fortune  was  but  small,  he  lived  up  to  the  very  extent  of 
it;  he  had  no  intentions  of  leaving  his  children  money,  for  that 
was  dross;  he  was  resolved  they  should  have  learning;  for  learning, 
he  used  to  observe,  was  better  than  silver  or  gold .  For  this  purpose, 
he  undertook  to  instruct  us  himself;  and  took  as  much  pains  to 
form  our  morals,  as  to  improve  our  understanding.  We  were 
told,  that  universal  benevolence  was  what  first  cemented  society; 
we  were  taught  to  consider  all  the  wants  of  mankind  as  our  own; 
to  regard  the  'human  face  divine'  with  affection  and  esteem; 

418 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

he  wound  us  up  to  be  mere  machines  of  pity,  and  rendered  us 
incapable  of  withstanding  the  slightest  impulse  made  either  by  real 
or  fictitious  distress:  in  a  word,  we  were  perfectly  instructed  in  the 
art  of  giving  away  thousands,  before  we  were  taught  the  more 
necessary  qualifications  of  getting  a  farthing. 

"I  cannot  avoid  imagining,  that  thus  refined  by  his  lessons  out 
of  all  my  suspicion,  and  divested  of  even  all  the  little  cunning  which 
nature  had  given  me,  I  resembled,  upon  my  first  entrance  into  the 
busy  and  insidious  world,  one  of  those  gladiators  who  were  exposed 
without  armour  in  the  amphitheatre  at  Rome.  My  father,  how- 
ever, who  had  only  seen  the  world  on  one  side,  seemed  to  triumph 
in  my  superior  discernment;  though  my  whole  stock  of  wisdom 
consisted  in  being  able  to  talk  like  himself  upon  subjects  that  once 
were  useful,  because  they  were  then  topics  of  the  busy  world,  but 
that  now  were  utterly  useless,  because  connected  with  the  busy 
world  no  longer. 

"The  first  opportunity  he  had  of  rinding  his  expectations  dis- 
appointed, was  in  the  very  middling  figure  I  made  in  the  university; 
he  had  flattered  himself  that  he  should  soon  see  me  rising  into  the 
foremost  rank  in  literary  reputation,  but  was  mortified  to  find  me 
utterly  unnoticed  and  unknown.  His  disappointment  might  have 
been  partly  ascribed  to  his  having  overrated  my  talents,  and  partly 
to  my  dislike  of  mathematical  reasonings,  at  a  time  when  my 
imagination  and  memory,  yet  unsatisfied,  were  more  eager  after 
new  objects,  than  desirous  of  reasoning  upon  those  I  knew.  This 
did  not,  however,  please  my  tutor,  who  observed,  indeed,  that  I 
was  a  little  dull;  but  at  the  same  time  allowed,  that  I  seemed  to  be 
very  good-natured,  and  had  no  harm  in  me. 

"After  I  had  resided  at  college  seven  years,  my  father  died, 
and  left  me  —  his  blessing.  Thus  shoved  from  shore  without 
ill-nature  to  protect,  or  cunning  to  guide,  or  proper  stores  to  sub- 
sist me  in  so  dangerous  a  voyage,  I  was  obliged  to  embark  in  the 
wide  world  at  twenty-two.  But,  in  order  to  settle  in  life,  my 
friends  advised,  (for  they  always  advise  when  they  begin  to  despise 
us  )  they  advised  me,  I  say,  to  go  into  orders. 

"  To  be  obliged  to  wear  a  long  wig,  when  I  liked  a  short  one, 
or  a  black  coat,  when  I  generally  dressed  in  brown,  I  thought  was 
such  a  restraint  upon  my  liberty,  that  I  absolutely  rejected  the 
proposal.  A  priest  in  England  is  not  the  same  mortified  creature 
with  a  bonze  in  China.  With  us,  not  he  that  fasts  best,  but  eats 

419 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

best,  is  reckoned  the  best  liver;  yet  I  rejected  a  life  of  luxury,  indo- 
lence, and  ease,  from  no  other  consideration  but  that  boyish  one  of 
dress.  So  that  my  friends  were  now  perfectly  satisfied  I  was 
undone;  and  yet  they  thought  it  a  pity  for  one  who  had  not  the 
least  harm  in  him,  and  was  so  very  good-natured. 

"Poverty  naturally  begets  dependence,  and  I  was  admitted  as 
flatterer  to  a  great  man.  At  first,  I  was  surprised  that  the  situa- 
tion of  a  flatterer  at  a  great  man's  table  could  be  thought  disagree- 
able: there  was  no  great  trouble  in  listening  attentively  when  his 
lordship  spoke,  and  laughing  when  he  looked  round  for  applause. 
This  even  good  manners  might  have  obliged  me  to  perform.  I 
found,  however,  too  soon,  that  his  lordship  was  a  greater  dunce 
than  myself;  and  from  that  very  moment  flattery  was  at  an  end. 
I  now  rather  aimed  at  setting  him  right,  than  at  receiving  his  absur- 
dities with  submission.  To  flatter  those  we  do  not  know  is  an 
easy  task;  but  to  flatter  our  intimate  acquaintances,  all  whose 
foibles  are  strongly  in  our  eye,  is  drudgery  insupportable.  Every 
time  I  now  opened  my  lips  in  praise,  my  falsehood  went  to  my 
conscience:  his  lordship  soon  perceived  me  to  be  very  unfit  for 
service;  I  was  therefore  discharged;  my  patron  at  the  same  time 
being  graciously  pleased  to  observe,  that  he  believed  I  was  tolerably 
good-natured,  and  had  not  the  least  harm  in  me. 

"Disappointed  in  ambition,  I  had  recourse  to  love.  A  young 
lady,  who  lived  with  her  aunt,  and  was  possessed  of  a  pretty  fortune 
in  her  own  disposal,  had  given  me,  as  I  fancied,  some  reason  to 
expect  success.  The  symptoms  by  which  I  was  guided  were 
striking.  She  had  always  laughed  with  me  at  her  awkward  ac- 
quaintance, and  at  her  aunt  among  the  number;  she  always 
observed,  that  a  man  of  sense  would  make  a  better  husband  than 
a  fool,  and  I  as  constantly  applied  the  observation  in  my  own 
favour.  She  continually  talked,  in  my  company,  of  friendship  and 
the  beauties  of  the  mind,  and  spoke  of  Mr.  Shrimp  my  rival's  high- 
heeled  shoes  with  detestation.  These  were  circumstances  which 
I  thought  strongly  in  my  favour;  so,  after  resolving,  and  re-resolv- 
ing, I  had  courage  enough  to  tell  her  my  mind.  Miss  heard  my 
proposal  with  serenity,  seeming  at  the  same  time  to  study  the 
figures  of  her  fan.  Out  at  last  it  came:  There  was  but  one  small 

objection  to  complete  our  happiness,  which  was  no  more  than 

that  she  was  married  three  months  before  to  Mr.  Shrimp,  with 
high-heeled  shoes!  By  way  of  consolation,  however,  she  observed, 

420 


CITIZEN   OF   THE   WORLD 

that,  though  I  was  disappointed  in  her,  my  addresses  to  her  aunt 
would  probably  kindle  her  into  sensibility;  as  the  old  lady  always 
allowed  me  to  be  very  good-natured,  and  not  to  have  the  least 
share  of  harm  in  me. 

"Yet  still  I  had  friends,  numerous  friends,  and  to  them  I  was 
resolved  to  apply.  O  friendship!  thou  fond  soother  of  the  human 
breast,  to  thee  we  fly  in  every  calamity;  to  thee  the  wretched  seek 
for  succour;  on  thee  the  care-tired  son  of  misery  fondly  relies;  from 
thy  kind  assistance  the  unfortunate  always  hopes  relief,  and  may 
be  ever  sure  of  —  disappointment!  My  first  application  was  to  a 
city  scrivener,  who  had  frequently  offered  to  lend  me  money,  when 
he  knew  I  did  not  want  it.  I  informed  him,  that  now  was  the 
time  to  put  his  friendship  to  the  test;  that  I  wanted  to  borrow  a 
couple  of  hundreds  for  a  certain  occasion,  and  was  resolved  to  take 
it  up  from  him.  'And  pray,  Sir,'  cried  my  friend,  'do  you  want 
all  this  money?'  —  'Indeed,  I  never  wanted  it  more,'  returned  I. 
'  I  am  sorry  for  that,'  cries  the  scrivener,  'with  all  my  heart;  for  they 
who  want  money  when  they  come  to  borrow,  will  always  want 
money  when  they  should  come  to  pay.' 

"From  him  I  flew  with  indignation,  to  one  of  the  best  friends 
I  had  in  the  world,  and  made  the  same  request.  'Indeed,  Mr. 
Drybone,'  cries  my  friend,  'I  always  thought  it  would  come  to  this. 
You  know,  Sir,  I  would  not  advise  you  but  for  your  own  good ;  but 
your  conduct  has  hitherto  been  ridiculous  in  the  highest  degree, 
and  some  of  your  acquaintance  always  thought  you  a  very  silly 
fellow.  Let  me  see  —  you  want  two  hundred  pounds.  Do  you 
only  want  two  hundred,  Sir,  exactly?'  —  'To  confess  a  truth,' 
returned  I,  'I  shall  want  three  hundred;  but  then  I  have  another 
friend,  from  whom  I  can  borrow  the  rest.'  —  'Why,  then,' replied 
my  friend,  'if  you  would  take  my  advice,  (and  you  know  I  should 
not  presume  to  advise  you  but  for  your  own  good),  I  would  recom- 
mend it  to  you  to  borrow  the  whole  sum  from  that  other  friend, 
and  then  one  note  will  serve  for  all,  you  know.' 

"  Poverty  now  began  to  come  fast  upon  me ;  yet  instead  of  grow- 
ing more  provident  or  cautious  as  I  grew  poor,  I  became  every  day 
more  indolent  and  simple.  A  friend  was  arrested  for  fifty  pounds; 
I  was  unable  to  extricate  him,  except  by  becoming  his  bail.  When 
at  liberty,  he  fled  from  his  creditors,  and  left  me  to  take  his  place. 
In  prison  I  expected  greater  satisfactions  than  I  had  enjoyed  at 
large.  I  hoped  to  converse  with  men  in  this  new  world,  simple 

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CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

and  believing  like  myself;  but  I  found  them  as  cunning  and  as 
cautious  as  those  in  the  world  I  had  left  behind.  They  spunged 
up  my  money  while  it  lasted,  borrowed  my  coals  and  never  paid 
for  them,  and  cheated  me  when  I  played  at  cribbage.  All  this  was 
done  because  they  believed  me  to  be  very  good-natured,  and  knew 
that  I  had  no  harm  in  me. 

"Upon  my  first  entrance  into  this  mansion,  which  is  to  some 
the  abode  of  despair,  I  felt  no  sensations  different  from  those  I 
experienced  abroad.  I  was  now  on  one  side  the  door,  and  those 
who  were  unconfined  were  on  the  other:  this  was  all  the  difference 
between  us.  At  first,  indeed,  I  felt  some  uneasiness,  in  consider- 
ing how  I  should  be  able  to  provide  this  week  for  the  wants  of  the 
week  ensuing ;  but,  after  some  time,  if  I  found  myself  sure  of  eating 
one  day,  I  never  troubled  my  head  how  I  was  to  be  supplied  another. 
I  seized  every  precarious  meal  with  the  utmost  good -humour; 
indulged  no  rants  of  spleen  at  my  situation;  never  called  down 
heaven  and  all  the  stars  to  behold  me  dining  upon  a  halfpenny 
worth  of  radishes ;  my  very  companions  were  taught  to  believe  that 
I  liked  salad  better  than  mutton.  I  contented  myself  with  think- 
ing, that  all  my  life  I  should  either  eat  white  bread  or  brown;  con- 
sidered that  all  that  happened  was  best ;  laughed  when  1  was  not 
in  pain,  took  the  world  as  it  went,  and  read  Tacitus  often,  for  want 
of  more  books  and  company. 

"How  long  I  might  have  continued  in  this  torpid  state  of  sim- 
plicity I  cannot  tell,  had  I  not  been  roused  by  seeing  an  old  ac- 
quaintance, whom  I  knew  to  be  a  prudent  block-head,  preferred 
to  a  place  in  the  government.  I  now  found  that  I  had  pursued 
a  wrong  track,  and  that  the  true  way  of  being  able  to  relieve  others, 
was  first  to  aim  at  independence  myself.  My  immediate  care, 
therefore,  was  to  leave  my  present  habitation,  and  make  an  entire 
reformation  in  my  conduct  and  behaviour.  For  a  free,  open, 
undesigning  deportment,  I  put  on  that  of  closeness,  prudence,  and 
economy.  One  of  the  most  heroic  actions  I  ever  performed,  and 
for  which  I  shall  praise  myself  as  long  as  I  live,  was  the  refusing 
half-a-crown  to  an  old  acquaintance,  at  the  time  when  he  wanted 
it,  and  I  had  it  to  spare :  for  this  alone  I  deserve  to  be  decreed  an 
ovation. 

"I  now  therefore  pursued  a  course  of  uninterrupted  frugality, 
seldom  wanted  a  dinner,  and  was  consequently  invited  to  twenty. 
I  soon  began  to  get  the  character  of  a  saving  hunks  that  had  money, 

422 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

and  insensibly  grew  into  esteem.  Neighbours  have  asked  my 
advice  in  the  disposal  of  their  daughters;  and  I  have  always  taken 
care  not  to  give  any.  I  have  contracted  a  friendship  with  an  alder-, 
man,  only  by  observing,  that  if  we  take  a  farthing  from  a  thousand 
pounds,  it  will  be  a  thousand  pounds  no  longer.  I  have  been  in- 
vited to  a  pawnbroker's  table,  by  pretending  to  hate  gravy,  and 
am  now  actually  upon  treaty  of  marriage  with  a  rich  widow,  for 
only  having  observed  that  the  bread  was  rising.  If  ever  I  am 
asked  a  question,  whether  I  know  it  or  not,  instead  of  answering, 
I  only  smile  and  look  wise.  If  a  charity  is  proposed,  I  go  about 
with  the  hat,  but  put  nothing  in  myself.  If  a  wretch  solicits  my 
pity,  I  observe  that  the  world  is  filled  with  impostors,  and  take  a 
certain  method  of  not  being  deceived,  by  never  relieving.  In  short 
I  now  find  the  truest  way  of  finding  esteem,  even  from  the  indigent 
is  —  to  give  away  nothing,  and  thus  have  much  in  our  power  to 
give." 


ON  THE  GREAT  NUMBER  OF  OLD  MAIDS  AND  BACHELORS  IN  LONDON — 
SOME  OF  THE  CAUSES 

LATELY,  in  company  with  my  friend  in  black,  whose  conversa- 
tion is  now  both  by  amusement  and  instruction,  I  could  not 
avoid  observing  the  great  numbers  of  old  bachelors  and  maiden 
ladies  with  which  this  city  seems  to  be  overrun.  "  Sure,  marriage," 
said  I,  "is  not  sufficiently  encouraged,  or  we  should  never  behold 
such  crowds  of  battered  beaux  and  decayed  coquettes,  still  attempt- 
ing to  drive  a  trade  they  have  been  so  long  unfit  for,  and  swarming 
upon  the  gaity  of  the  age.  I  behold  an  old  bachelor  in  the  most 
contemptible  light,  as  an  animal  that  lives  upon  the  common  stock 
without  contributing  his  share:  he  is  a  beast  of  prey,  and  the  laws 
should  make  use  of  as  many  stratagems,  and  as  much  force,  to 
drive  the  reluctant  savage  into  the  toils,  as  the  Indians  when  they 
hunt  the  rhinoceros.  The  mob  should  be  permitted  to  halloo 
after  him,  boys  might  play  tricks  on  him  with  impunity,  every  well- 
bred  company  should  laugh  at  him ;  and  if,  when  turned  of  sixty,  he 
offered  to  make  love,  his  mistress  might  spit  in  his  face,  or,  what  would 
be  perhaps  a  greater  punishment,  should  fairly  grant  the  favour. 

423 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

"As  for  old  maids,"  continued  I,  "they  should  not  be  treated 
with  so  much  severity,  because  I  suppose  none  would  be  so  if  they 
could.  No  lady  in  her  senses  would  choose  to  make  a  subordinate 
figure  at  christenings  or  lyings-in,  when  she  might  be  the  principal 
herself;  nor  curry  favour  with  a  sister-in-law,  when  she  might 
command  a  husband ;  nor  toil  in  preparing  custards,  when  she  might 
lie  a-bed,  and  give  directions  how  they  ought  to  be  made;  nor  stifle 
all  her  sensations  in  demure  formality,  when  she  might,  with 
matrimonial  freedom,  shake  her  acquaintance  by  the  hand,  and 
wink  at  a  double  entendre.  No  lady  could  be  so  very  silly  as  to  live 
single,  if  she  could  help  it.  I  consider  an  unmarried  lady,  declining 
into  the  vale  of  years,  as  one  of  those  charming  countries  bordering 
on  China,  that  lies  waste  for  want  of  proper  inhabitants.  We  are 
not  to  accuse  the  country,  but  the  ignorance  of  its  neighbours,  who 
are  insensible  of  its  beauties,  though  at  liberty  to  enter  and  cultivate 
the  soil." 

"Indeed,  Sir,"  replied  my  companion,  "you  are  very  little 
acquainted  with  the  English  ladies,  to  think  they  are  old  maids 
against  their  will.  I  dare  venture  to  affirm,  that  you  can  hardly 
select  one  of  them  all,  but  has  had  frequent  offers  of  marriage, 
which  either  pride  or  avarice  has  not  made  her  reject.  Instead  of 
thinking  it  a  disgrace,  they  take  every  occasion  to  boast  of  their 
former  cruelty;  a  soldier  does  not  exult  more  when  he  counts  over 
the  wounds  he  has  received,  than  a  female  veteran  when  she  relates 
the  wounds  she  has  formerly  given:  exhaustless  when  she  begins  a 
narrative  of  the  former  death-dealing  power  of  her  eyes,  she  tells 
of  the  knight  in  gold  lace,  who  died  with  a  single  frown,  and  never 
rose  again  till  —  he  was  married  to  his  maid;  of  the  squire  who, 
being  cruelly  denied,  in  a  rage  flew  to  the  window,  and  lifting  up 
the  sash,  threw  himself,  in  an  agony  —  into  his  arm-chair;  of  the 
parson,  who,  crossed  in  love,  resolutely  swallowed  opium,  which 
banished  the  stings  of  despised  love  by  —  making  him  sleep.  In 
short,  she  talks  over  her  former  losses  with  pleasure,  and,  like  some 
tradesmen,  finds  consolation  in  the  many  bankruptcies  she  has 
suffered. 

"For  this  reason,  whenever  I  see  a  superannuated  beauty  still 
unmarried,  I  tacitly  accuse  her  either  of  pride,  avarice,  coquetry, 
or  affectation.  There's  Miss  Jenny  Tinderbox:  I  once  remember 
her  to  have  had  some  beauty,  and  a  moderate  fortune.  Her  elder 
sister  happened  to  marry  a  man  of  quality,  and  this  seemed  as  a 

424 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

statute  of  virginity  against  poor  Jane.  Because  there  was  one 
lucky  hit  in  the  family,  she  was  resolved  not  to  disgrace  it  by  intro- 
ducing a  tradesman ;  thus,  rejecting  her  equals,  and  neglected  or 
despised  by  her  superiors,  she  now  acts  in  the  capacity  of  tutoress 
to  her  sister's  children,  and  undergoes  the  drudgery  of  three  ser- 
vants without  receiving  the  wages  of  one. 

"Miss  Squeeze  was  a  pawnbroker's  daughter;  her  father  had 
early  taught  her  that  money  was  a  very  good  thing,  and  left  her  a 
moderate  fortune  at  his  death.  She  was  so  perfectly  sensible  of  the 
value  of  what  she  had  got,  that  she  was  resolved  never  to  part  with 
a  farthing  without  an  equality  on  the  part  of  her  suitor;  she  thus 
refused  several  offers  made  her  by  people  who  wanted  to  better 
themselves,  as  the  saying  is,  and  grew  old  and  ill-natured,  without 
ever  considering  that  she  should  have  made  an  abatement  in  her 
pretensions,  from  her  face  being  pale,  and  marked  with  the  small- 
pox. 

"  Lady  Betty  Tempest,  on  the  contrary,  had  beauty,  with  fortune 
and  family.  But,  fond  of  conquest,  she  passed  from  triumph  to 
triumph:  she  had  read  plays  and  romances,  and  there  had  learned, 
that  a  plain  man  of  common  sense  was  no  better  than  a  fool.  Such 
she  refused,  and  sighed  only  for  the  gay,  giddy,  inconstant,  and 
thoughtless.  After  she  had  thus  rejected  hundreds  who  liked  her, 
and  sighed  for  hundreds  who  despised  her,  she  fo'und  herself  insen- 
sibly deserted.  At  present  she  is  company  only  for  her  aunts 
and  cousins,  and  sometimes  makes  one  in  a  country-dance,  with 
only  one  of  the  chairs  for  a  partner,  casts  off  round  a  joint-stool, 
and  sets  to  a  corner  cupboard.  In  a  word,  she  is  treated  with 
civil  contempt  from  every  quarter,  and  placed,  like  a  piece  of 
old-fashioned  lumber,  merely  to  fill  up  a  corner. 

"But  Sophronia,  the  sagacious  Sophronia!  how  shall  I  mention 
her?  She  was  taught  to  love  Greek,  and  hate  the  men  from  her 
very  infancy.  She  has  rejected  fine  gentlemen  because  they  were 
not  pedants,  and  pedants  because  they  were  not  fine  gentlemen; 
her  exquisite  sensibility  has  taught  her  to  discover  every  fault  in 
every  lover,  and  her  inflexible  justice  has  prevented  her  pardoning 
them:  thus  she  rejected  several  offers,  till  the  wrinkles  of  age  had 
overtaken  her;  and  now,  without  one  good  feature  in  her  face,  she 
talks  incessantly  of  the  beauties  of  the  mind,"  —  Farewell, 


425 


CITIZEN   OF   THE   WORLD 

LETTER  XXIX 
To  the  Same 

A  DESCRIPTION  OF  A  CLUB  OF  AUTHORS 

WERE  we  to  estimate  the  learning  of  the  English  by  the  num- 
ber of  books  that  are  every  day  published  among  them, 
perhaps  no  country,  not  even  China  itself,  could  equal  them  in  this 
particular.  I  have  reckoned  not  less  than  twenty-three  new  books 
published  in  one  day,  which,  upon  computation,  makes  eight 
thousand  three  hundred  and  ninety-five  in  one  year.  Most  of 
these  are  not  confined  to  one  single  science,  but  embrace  the 
whcle  circle.  History,  politics,  poetry,  mathematics,  meta- 
physics, and  the  philosophy  of  nature,  are  all  comprised  in  a 
manual  not  larger  than  that  in  which  our  children  are  taught 
the  letters.  If,  then,  we  suppose  the  learned  of  England  to  read 
but  an  eighth  part  of  the  works  which  daily  come  from  the  press 
(and  surely  none  can  pretend  to  learning  upon  less  easy  terms),  at 
this  rate  every  scholar  will  read  a  thousand  books  in  one  year. 
From  such  a  calculation,  you  may  conjecture  what  an  amazing 
fund  of  literature  a  man  must  be  possessed  of,  who  thus  reads 
three  new  books  every  day,  not  one  of  which  but  contains  all  the 
good  things  that  ever  were  said  or  written. 

And  yet  I  know  not  how  it  happens,  but  the  English  are  not,  in 
reality,  so  learned  as  would  seem  from  this  calculation.  We  meet 
but  few  who  know  all  arts  and  sciences  to  perfection ;  whether  it  is 
that  the  generality  are  incapable  of  such  extensive  knowledge,  or 
that  the  authors  of  those  books  are  not  adequate  instructors.  In 
China,  the  Emperor  himself  takes  cognizance  of  all  the  doctors  in 
the  kingdom  who  profess  authorship.  In  England,  every  man 
may  be  an  author,  that  can  write;  for  they  have  by  law  a  liberty, 
not  only  of  saying  what  they  please,  but  of  being  also  as  dull  as  they 
please. 

Yesterday,  I  testified  my  surprise,  to  the  man  in  black,  where 
writers  could  be  found  in  sufficient  number  to  throw  off  the  books 
I  daily  saw  crowding  from  the  press.  I  at  first  imagined  that  their 
learned  seminaries  might  take  this  method  of  instructing  the  world. 
But  to  obviate  this  objection,  my  companion  assured  me,  that  the 
doctors  of  colleges  never  wrote,  and  that  some  of  them  had  actually 

426 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

forgot  their  reading;  "but  if  you  desire,"  continued  he,  "to  see  a 
collection  of  authors,  I  fancy  I  can  introduce  you  this  evening  to 
a  club,  which  assembles  every  Saturday  at  seven,  at  the  sign  of  The 
Broom,  near  Islington,  to  talk  over  the  business  of  the  last,  and  the 
entertainment  of  the  week  ensuing."  I  accepted  his  invitation; 
we  walked  together,  and  entered  the  house  some  time  before  the 
usual  hour  for  the  company  assembling. 

My  friend  took  this  opportunity  of  letting  me  into  the  characters 
of  the  principal  members  of  the  club,  not  even  the  host  excepted, 
who,  it  seems,  was  once  an  author  himself,  but  preferred  by  a  book- 
seller to  this  situation  as  a  reward  for  his  former  services. 

"The  first  person,"  said  he,  "of  our  society,  is  Doctor  Nonentity, 
a  metaphysician.  Most  people  think  him  a  profound  scholar;  but, 
as  he  seldom  speaks,  I  cannot  be  positive  in  that  particular;  he  gen- 
erally spreads  himself  before  the  fire,  sucks  his  pipe,  talks  little, 
drinks  much,  and  is  reckoned  very  good  company.  I'm  told  he 
writes  indexes  to  perfection :  he  makes  essays  on  the  origin  of  evil, 
philosophical  enquiries  upon  any  subject,  and  draws  up  an  answer 
to  any  book  upon  twenty-four  hours  warning.  You  may  distinguish 
him  from  the  rest  of  the  company  by  his  long  grey  wig,  and  the  blue 
handkerchief  round  his  neck. 

"The  next  to  him  in  merit  and  esteem  is  Tim  Syllabub,  a  droll 
creature :  he  sometimes  shines  as  a  star  of  the  first  magnitude  among 
the  choice  spirits  of  the  age:  he  is  reckoned  equally  excellent  at 
a  rebus,  a  riddle,  a  bawdy  song,  and  a  hymn  for  the  Tabernacle. 
You  will  know  him  by  his  shabby  finery,  his  powdered  wig,  dirty 
shirt,  and  broken  silk  stockings. 

"After  him  succeeds  Mr.  Tibs,  a  very  useful  hand:  he  writes 
receipts  for  the  bite  of  a  mad  dog,  and  throws  off  an  Eastern  tale 
to  perfection;  he  understands  the  business  of  an  author  as  well  as 
any  man ;  for  no  bookseller  alive  can  cheat  him.  You  may  distin- 
guish him  by  the  peculiar  clumsiness  of  his  figure,  and  the  coarseness 
of  his  coat;  however,  though  it  be  coarse  (as  he  frequently  tells  the 
company),  he  has  paid  for  it. 

"  Lawyer  Squint  is  the  politician  of  the  society:  he  makes  speeches 
for  Parliament,  writes  addresses  to  his  fellow-subjects,  and  letters 
to  noble  commanders;  he  gives  the  history  of  every  new  play,  and 
finds  seasonable  thoughts  upon  every  occasion.'  My  companion 
was  proceeding  in  his  description,  when  the  host  came  running  in, 
with  terror  on  his  countenance,  to  tell  us  that  the  door  was  beset  with 

427 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

bailiffs.  "If  that  be  the  case,  then,"  says  my  comp  nion,  "we 
had  as  good  be  going;  for  I  am  positive  we  shall  not  see  one  of  the 
company  this  night."  Wherefore,  disappointed,  we  were  both 
obliged  to  return  home  —  he  to  enjoy  the  oddities  which  compose 
his  character  alone,  and  I  to  write  as  usual  to  my  friend  the  occur- 
rences of  the  day.  Adieu. 


LETTER  XXX 
To  the  Same 

THE  PROCEEDINGS  OF  THE  CLUB   OF  AUTHORS 

BY  my  last  advices  from  Moscow,  I  find  the  caravan  has  not  yet 
departed  for  China:!  still  continue  to  write,  expecting  that 
you  may  receive  a  large  number  of  letters  at  once.  In  them  you  will 
find  rather  a  minute  detail  of  English  peculiarities,  than  a  general 
picture  of  their  manners  or  disposition.  Happy  it  were  for  mankind, 
if  all  travellers  would  thus,  instead  of  characterizing  a  people  in 
general  terms,  lead  us  into  a  detail  of  those  minute  circumstances 
which  first  influenced  their  opinion.  The  genius  of  a  country 
should  be  investigated  with  a  kind  of  experimental  enquiry:  by  this 
means,  we  should  have  more  precise  and  just  notions  of  foreign 
nations,  and  detect  travellers  themselves  when  they  happened  to 
form  wrong  conclusions. 

My  friend  and  I  repeated  our  visit  to  the  club  of  authors;  where, 
upon  our  entrance,  we  found  the  members  all  assembled,  and 
engaged  in  a  loud  debate. 

The  poet,  in  shabby  finery,  holding  a  manuscript  in  his  hand, 
was  earnestly  endeavouring  to  persuade  the  company  to  hear  him 
read  the  first  book  of  an  heroic  poem,  which  he  had  composed  the 
day  before.  But  against  this  all  the  members  very  warmly  objected. 
They  knew  no  reason  why  any  member  of  the  club  should  be 
indulged  with  a  particular  hearing,  when  many  of  them  had  pub- 
lished whole  volumes  which  had  never  been  looked  into.  They 
insisted  that  the  law  should  be  observed ,  where  reading  in  company 
was  expressly  noticed.  It  was  hi  vain  that  the  plaintiff  pleaded  the 
peculiar  merit  of  his  piece ;  he  spoke  to  an  assembly  insensible  to  all 
his  remonstrances:  the  book  of  laws  was  opened,  and  read  by  the 

428 


CITIZEN    OF   THE    WORLD 

secretary,  where  it  was  expressly  enacted,  "That  whatsoever  poet, 
speech-maker,  critic,  or  historian,  should  presume  to  engage  the 
company  by  reading  his  own  works,  he  was  to  lay  down  sixpence 
previous  to  opening  the  manuscript,  and  should  be  charged  one 
shilling  an  hour  while  he  continued  reading:  the  said  shilling  to  be 
equally  distributed  among  the  company,  as  a  recompense  for  their 
trouble." 

Our  poet  seemed  at  first  to  shrink  at  the  penalty,  hesitating  for 
some  time  whether  he  should  deposit  the  fine,  or  shut  up  the  poem; 
but,  looking  round,  and  perceiving  two  strangers  in  the  room,  his  love 
of  fame  outweighed  his  prudence,  and,  laying  down  the  sum  by 
law  established,  he  insisted  on  his  prerogative. 

A  profound  silence  ensuing,  he  began  by  explaining  his  design. 
"  Gentlemen,"  says  he,  "  the  present  piece  is  not  one  of  your  common 
epic  poems,  which  come  from  the  press  like  paper-kites  in  summer: 
there  are  none  of  your  Turn  uses  or  Didos  in  it;  it  is  an  heroical 
description  of  nature.  I  only  beg  you'll  endeavour  to  make  your 
souls  unison  with  mine,  and  hear  with  the  same  enthusiasm  with 
which  I  have  written.  The  poem  begins  with  the  description  of 
an  author's  bedchamber:  the  picture  was  sketched  in  my  own  apart- 
ment; for  you  must  know,  gentlemen,  that  I  am  myself  the  hero." 
Then  putting  himself  into  the  attitude  of  an  orator,  with  all  the 
emphasis  of  voice  and  action,  he  proceeded: 

"Where  the  Red  Lion,  flaring  o'er  the  way, 
Invites  each  passing  stranger  that  can  pay; 
Where  Cal vert's  butt,  and  Parson's  black  champagne, 
Regale  the  drabs  and  bloods  of  Drury-lane: 
There,  in  a  lonely  room,  from  bailiffs  snug, 
The  muse  found  Scroggen  stretch'd  beneath  a  rug. 
A  window,  patch 'd  with  paper,  lent  a  ray, 
That  dimly  show'd  the  state  in  which  he  lay; 
The  sanded  floor  that  grits  beneath  the  tread; 
The  humid  wall  with  paltry  pictures  spread  — 
The  Royal  Game  of  Goose  was  there  in  view 
And  the  Twelve  Rules  the  Royal  Martyr  drew; 
The  seasons,  fram'd  with  listing,  found  a  place, 
And  brave  Prince  William  show'd  his  lamp-black  face. 
The  morn  was  cold:  he  views  with  keen  desire 
The  rusty  grate,  unconscious  of  a  fire: 
With  beer  and  milk  arrears  the  frieze  was  scor'd, 
And  five  crack'd  teacups  dress'd  the  chimney  board; 
A  night-cap  deck'd  his  brows  instead  of  bay, 
A  cap  by  night  —  a  stocking  all  the  day  !  " 

429 


CITIZEN    OF   THE    WORLD 

With  this  last  line  he  seemed  so  much  elated,  that  he  was  unable 
to  proceed.  "There,  gentlemen,"  cries  he,  "there  is  a  description 
for  you;  Rabelais 's  bed-chamber  is  but  a  fool  to  it: 

'  A  cap  by  night  —  a  stocking  all  the  day!' 

There  is  sound,  and  sense,  and  truth,  and  nature  in  the  trifling  com- 
pass of  ten  little  syllables." 

He  was  too  much  employed  in  self-admiration  to  observe  the 
company;  who,  by  nods,  winks,  shrugs,  and  stifled  laughter,  testified 
every  mark  of  contempt.  He  turned  severally  to  each  for  their 
opinion,  and  found  all,  however,  ready  to  applaud.  One  swore  it 
was  inimitable;  another  said  it  was  damn'd  fine;  and  a  third  cried 
out  in  a  rapture  "  Carissimo  !  "  At  last,  addressing  himself  to  the 
president,  "And  pray,  Mr.  Squint,"  says  he,  "let  us  have  your 
opinion."  —  "Mine!"  answered  the  president  (taking  the  manu- 
script out  of  the  author's  hand) ;  "  may  this  glass  suffocate  me,  but  I 
think  it  equal  to  any  thing  I  have  seen;  and  I  fancy"  (continued  he, 
doubling  up  the  poem  and  forcing  it  into  the  author's  pocket) 
"that  you  will  get  great  honour  when  it  comes  out;  so  I  shall  beg 
leave  to  put  it  in.  We  will  not  intrude  upon  your  good-nature,  in 
desiring  to  hear  more  of  it  at  present;  ex  ungue  Herculem,  we  are 
satisfied,  perfectly  satisfied."  The  author  made  two  or  three  at- 
tempts to  pull  it  out  a  second  time,  and  the  president  made  as 
many  to  prevent  him.  Thus,  though  with  reluctance,  he  was  at 
last  obliged  to  sit  down,  contented  with  the  commendations  for 
which  he  had  paid. 

When  this  tempest  of  poetry  and  praise  was  blown  over,  one  of 
the  company  changed  the  subject,  by  wondering  how  any  man 
could  be  so  dull  as  to  write  poetry  at  present,  since  prose  itself  would 
hardly  pay.  "Would  you  think  it,  gentlemen,"  continued  he,  "I 
have  actually  written,  last  week,  sixteen  prayers,  twelve  bawdy 
jests,  and  three  sermons,  all  at  the  rate  of  sixpence  a-piece;  and, 
what  is  still  more  extraordinary,  the  bookseller  has  lost  by  the  bar- 
gain. Such  sermons  would  once  have  gained  me  a  prebend's 
btall;  but  now,  alas!  we  have  neither  piety,  taste,  nor  humour  among 
us!  Positively,  if  this  season  does  not  turn  out  better  than  it  has 
begun,  unless  the  ministry  commit  some  blunders  to  furnish  us  with 
a  new  topic  of  abuse,  I  shall  resume  my  old  business  of  working 
at  the  press,  instead  of  finding  it  employment." 

The  whole  club  seemed  to  join  in  condemning  the  season,  as  one 

43° 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

of  the  worst  that  had  come  for  some  time :  a  gentleman  particularly 
observed  that  the  nobility  were  never  known  to  subscribe  worse 
than  at  present.  "I  know  not  how  it  happens,"  said  he,  "though 
I  follow  them  up  as  close  as  possible,  yet  I  can  hardly  get  a  single 
subscription  in  a  week.  The  houses  of  the  great  are  as  inacces- 
sible as  a  frontier  garrison  at  midnight.  I  never  see  a  nobleman's 
door  half  opened,  that  some  surly  porter  or  footman  does  not  stand 
full  in  the  breach.  I  was  yesterday  to  wait  with  a  subscription 
proposal  upon  my  Lord  Squash,  the  Creolian.  I  had  posted  myself 
at  his  door  the  whole  morning,  and,  just  as  he  was  getting  into  his 
coach,  thrust  my  proposal  snug  into  his  hand,  folded  up  in  the  form 
of  a  letter  from  myself.  He  just  glanced  at  the  superscription, 
and  not  knowing  the  hand,  consigned  it  to  his  valet-de-chambre ; 
this  respectable  personage  treated  it  as  his  master,  and  put  it  into 
the  hands  of  the  porter;  the  porter  grasped  my  proposal  frowning; 
and,  measuring  my  figure  from  top  to  toe,  put  it  back  into  my  own 
hands  unopened." 

"To  the  devil  I  pitch  all  the  nobility!"  cries  a  little  man,  in  a 
peculiar  accent;  "I  am  sure  they  have  cf  late  used  me  most  scurvily. 
You  must  know,  gentlemen,  some  time  ago,  upon  the  arrival  of  a 
certain  noble  duke  from  his  travels,  I  sat  myself  down,  and  vamped 
up  a  fine  flaunting  poetical  panegyric,  which  I  had  written  in  such 
a  strain,  that  I  fancied  it  would  have  even  wheedled  milk  from  a 
mouse.  In  this  I  represented  the  whole  kingdom  welcoming  his 
grace  to  his  native  soil;  not  forgetting  the  loss  France  and  Italy 
would  sustain  in  their  arts  by  his  departure.  I  expected  to  touch 
for  a  bank-bill  at  least;  so,  folding  up  my  verses  in  gilt  paper,  I 
gave  my  last  half-crown  to  a  genteel  servant  to  be  the  bearer.  My 
letter  was  safely  conveyed  to  his  grace,  and  the  servant,  after  four 
hours  absence,  during  which  time  I  led  the  life  of  a  fiend,  returned 
with  a  letter  four  times  as  big  as  mine.  Guess  my  extasy  at  the 
prospect  of  so  fine  a  return.  I  eagerly  took  the  packet  into  my 
hands,  that  trembled  to  receive  it.  I  kept  it  some  time  unopened 
before  me,  brooding  over  the  expected  treasure  it  contained;  when 
opening  it,  as  I  hope  to  be  saved,  gentlemen,  his  grace  had  sent  me 
in  payment  for  my  poem,  no  bank-bills,  but  six  copies  of  verses, 
each  longer  than  mine,  addressed  to  him  upon  the  same  occasion." 

"A  nobleman,"  cries  a  member,  who  had  hitherto  been  silent, 
"is  created  as  much  for  the  confusion  of  us  authors,  as  the  catch- 
pole.  I'll  tell  you  a  story,  gentlemen,  which  is  as  true  as  that  this 

431 


CITIZEN   OF   THE   WORLD 

pipe  is  made  of  clay:  —  When  I  was  delivered  of  my  first  book, 
I  owed  my  tailor  for  a  suit  of  clothes ;  but  that  is  nothing  new,  you 
know,  and  may  be  any  man's  case  as  well  as  mine.  Well,  owing 
him  for  a  suit  of  clothes,  and  hearing  that  my  book  took  very  well, 
he  sent  for  his  money  and  insisted  upon  being  paid  immediately. 
Though  I  was  at  that  time  rich  in  fame  —  for  my  book  ran  like 
wild-fire  —  yet  I  was  very  short  in  money,  and,  being  unable  to 
satisfy  his  demand,  prudently  resolved  to  keep  my  chamber,  pre- 
ferring a  prison  of  my  own  choosing  at  home,  to  one  of  my  tailor's 
choosing  abroad.  In  vain  the  bailiffs  used  all  their  arts  to  decoy 
me  from  my  citadel ;  in  vain  they  sent  to  let  me  know  that  a  gentle- 
man wanted  to  speak  with  me  at  the  next  tavern ;  in  vain  they  came 
with  an  urgent  message  from  my  aunt  in  the  country;  in  vain  I  was 
told  that  a  particular  friend  was  at  the  point  of  death,  and  desired 
to  take  his  last  farewell:  —  I  was  deaf,  insensible,  rock,  adamant; 
the  bailiffs  could  make  no  impression  on  my  hard  heart,  for  I  effectu- 
ally kept  my  liberty  by  never  stirring  out  of  the  room. 

"This  was  very  well  for  a  fortnight;  when  one  morning  I  received 
a  most  splendid  message  from  the  Earl  of  Doomsday,  importing, 
that  he  had  read  my  book,  and  was  in  raptures  with  every  line  of  it; 
he  impatiently  longed  to  see  the  author,  and  had  some  designs  which 
might  turn  out  greatly  to  my  advantage.  I  paused  upon  the  con- 
tents of  this  message,  and  found  there  could  be  no  deceit,  for  the 
card  was  gilt  at  the  edges,  and  the  bearer,  I  was  told,  had  quite  the 
looks  of  a  gentleman.  Witness,  ye  powers,  how  my  heart  triumphed 
at  my  own  importance !  I  saw  a  long  perspective  of  felicity  before 
me ;  I  applauded  the  taste  of  the  times  which  never  saw  genius  for- 
saken: I  had  prepared  a  set  introductory  speech  for  the  occasion; 
five  glaring  compliments  for  his  lordship,  and  two  more  modest  for 
myself.  The  next  morning,  therefore,  in  order  to  be  punctual  to 
my  appointment,  I  took  coach,  and  ordered  the  fellow  to  drive  to 
the  street  and  house  mentioned  in  his  lordship's  address.  I  had  the 
precaution  to  pull  up  the  windows  as  I  went  along,  to  keep  off  the 
busy  part  of  mankind,  and,  big  with  expectation,  fancied  the  coach 
never  went  fast  enough.  At  length,  however,  the  wished  for  mo- 
ment of  its  stopping  arrived:  this  for  some  time  I  impatiently  ex- 
pected, and  letting  down  the  window  in  a  transport,  in  order  to  take 
a  previous  view  of  his  lordship's  magnificent  palace  and  situation, 
I  found  —  poison  to  my  sight !  —  I  found  myself  not  in  an  elegant 
street,  but  a  paltry  lane:  not  at  a  nobleman's  door,  but  the  door  of 

432 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

a  spunging-house :  I  found  the  coachman  had  all  this  while  been 
just  driving  me  to  jail;  and  I  saw  the  bailiff,  with  a  devil's  face, 
coming  out  to  secure  me." 

To  a  philosopher,  no  circumstance,  however  trifling,  is  too  minute; 
he  finds  instruction  and  entertainment  in  occurrences,  which  are 
passed  over  by  the  rest  of  mankind,  as  low,  trite,  and  indifferent; 
it  is  from  the  number  of  these  particulars,  which  to  many  appear  in- 
significant, that  he  is  at  last  enabled  to  form  general  conclusions; 
this,  therefore,  must  be  my  excuse  for  sending  so  far  as  China,  ac- 
counts of  manners  and  follies,  which,  though  minute  in  their  own 
nature,  serve  more  truly  to  characterize  this  people,  than  histories 
of  their  public  treaties,  courts,  ministers,  negotiations,  and  ambassa- 
dors. Adieu. 

LETTER   XLI 

To  the  Same 

THE   BEHAVIOUR    OF   THE    CONGREGATION    IN    ST.    PAUL'S    CHURCH 

AT  PRAYERS 

SOME  time  since  I  sent  thee,  O  holy  disciple  of  Confucius,  an 
account  of  the  grand  abbey,  or  mausoleum,  of  the  kings  and 
heroes  of  this  nation:  I  have  since  been  introduced  to  a  temple,  not 
so  ancient,  but  far  superior  in  beauty  and  magnificence.  In  this, 
which  is  the  most  considerable  of  the  empire,  there  are  no  pompous 
inscriptions,  no  flattery  paid  the  dead,  but  all  is  elegant  and  awfully 
simple.  There  are,  however,  a  few  rags  hung  round  the  walls, 
which  have,  at  a  vast  expense,  been  taken  from  the  enemy  in  the 
present  war.  The  silk  of  which  they  are  composed,  when  new, 
might  be  valued  at  half  a  string  of  copper  money  in  China ;  yet  this 
wise  people  fitted  out  a  fleet  and  an  army  in  order  to  seize  them, 
though  now  grown  old,  and  scarcely  capable  of  being  patched  up 
into  a  handkerchief.  By  this  conquest,  the  English  are  said  to 
have  gained,  and  the  French  to  have  lost,  much  honour.  Is  the 
honour  of  European  nations  placed  only  in  tattered  silk  ? 

In  this  temple  I  was  permitted  to  remain  during  the  whole  ser- 
vice ;  and  were  you  not  already  acquainted  with  the  religion  of  the 
English,  you  might,  from  my  description,  be  inclined  to  believe 
them  as  grossly  idolatrous  as  the  disciples  of  Lao.  The  idol  which 
they  seem  to  address,  strides  like  a  colossus  over  the  door  of  the 

433 


CITIZEN   OF   THE   WORLD 

inner  temple,  which  here,  as  with  the  Jews,  is  esteemed  the  most 
sacred  part  of  the  building.  Its  oracles  are  delivered  in  a  hundred 
various  tones,  which  seem  to  inspire  the  worshippers  with  enthusi- 
asm and  awe:  an  old  woman,  who  appeared  to  be  the  priestess, 
was  employed  in  various  attitudes,  as  she  felt  the  inspiration. 
When  it  began  to  speak,  all  the  people  remained  fixed  hi  silent  at- 
tention, nodding  assent,  looking  approbation,  appearing  highly 
edified  by  those  sounds  which  to  a  stranger  might  seem  inarticu- 
late and  unmeaning. 

When  the  idol  had  done  speaking,  and  the  priestess  had  locked 
up  its  lungs  with  a  key,  observing  almost  all  the  company  leaving 
the  temple,  I  concluded  the  service  was  over,  and  taking  my  hat, 
was  going  to  walk  away  with  the  crowd,  when  I  was  stopped  by  the 
man  in  black,  who  assured  me  that  the  ceremony  had  scarcely  yet 
begun!  "What!"  cried  I,  "do  I  not  see  almost  the  whole  body  of 
the  worshippers  leaving  the  church  ?  Would  you  persuade  me  that 
such  numbers  who  profess  religion  and  morality,  would,  in  this 
shameless  manner,  quit  the  temple  before  the  service  was  concluded  ? 
You  surely  mistake:  not  even  the  Kalmucks  would  be  guilty  of 
such  an  indecency,  though  all  the  object  of  their  worship  was  but  a 
joint-stool."  My  friend  seemed  to  blush  for  his  countrymen,  as- 
suring me  that  those  whom  I  saw  running  away,  were  only  a  parcel 
of  musical  blockheads,  whose  passion  was  merely  for  sounds,  and 
whose  heads  are  as  empty  as  a  fiddle-case:  those  who  remained 
behind,  says  he,  are  the  true  religious;  they  make  use  of  music  to 
warm  their  hearts,  and  to  lift  them  to  a  proper  pitch  of  rapture: 
examine  their  behaviour,  and  you  will  confess  there  are  some  among 
us  who  practise  true  devotion. 

I  now  looked  round  me  as  directed,  but  saw  nothing  of  that 
fervent  devotion  which  he  had  promised:  one  of  the  worshippers 
appeared  to  be  ogling  the  company  through  a  glass;  another  was 
fervent,  not  in  addresses  to  Heaven,  but  to  his  mistress;  a  third 
whispered,  a  fourth  took  snuff,  and  the  priest  himself,  in  a  drowsy 
tone,  read  over  the  duties  of  the  day. 

"  Bless  my  eyes !  "  cried  I,  as  I  happened  to  look  towards  the  doors, 
"what  do  I  see?  one  of  the  worshippers  fallen  fast  asleep,  and  actu- 
ally sunk  down  on  his  cushion!  Is  he  now  enjoying  the  benefit 
of  a  trance,  or  does  he  receive  the  influence  of  some  mysterious  vi- 
sion?"—  "Alas!  alas!"  replied  my  companion,  "no  such  thing;  he 
has  only  had  the  misfortune  of  eating  too  hearty  a  dinner,  and  finds 

434 


The  Sleeping  Congregation. 


CITIZEN   OF   THE   WORLD 

it  impossible  to  keep  his  eyes  open."  Turning  to  another  part  of 
the  temple,  I  perceived  a  young  lady  just  in  the  same  circumstances 
and  attitude:  "Strange,"  cried  I;  "can  she,  too,  have  over-eaten 
herself?"  —  " Oh,  fie!"  replied  my  friend,  "you  now  grow  censori- 
ous. She  grow  drowsy  from  eating  too  much!  that  would  be  pro- 
fanation !  She  only  sleeps  now  from  having  sat  up  all  night  at  a  brag 
party."  -—  "Turn  me  where  I  will,  then,"  says  I,  "  I  can  perceive  no 
single  symptom  of  devotion  among  the  worshippers,  except  from 
that  old  woman  in  the  corner,  who  sits  groaning  behind  the  long 
sticks  of  a  mourning  fan;  she  indeed  seems  greatly  edified  with 
what  she  hears."-— "Ay,"  replied  my  friend,  "I  knew  we  should 
find  some  to  catch  you;  I  know  her;  that  is  the  deaf  lady  who  lives 
in  the  cloisters." 

In  short,  the  remissness  of  behaviour  in  almost  all  the  worshippers, 
and  some  even  of  the  guardians,  struck  me  with  surprise.  I  had 
been  taught  to  believe  that  none  were  ever  promoted  to  offices  in 
the  temple,  but  men  remarkable  for  their  superior  sanctity,  learning, 
and  rectitude;  that  there  was  no  such  thing  heard  of,  as  persons 
being  introduced  into  the  church  merely  to  oblige  a  senator,  or  pro- 
vide for  the  younger  branch  of  a  noble  family:  I  expected,  as  their 
minds  were  continually  set  upon  heavenly  things,  to  see  their  eyes 
directed  there  also;  and  hoped,  from  their  behaviour,  to  perceive 
their  inclinations  corresponding  with  their  duty.  But  I  am  since 
informed,  that  some  are  appointed  to  preside  over  temples  they 
never  visit;  and,  while  they  receive  all  the  money,  are  contented 
with  letting  others  do  all  the  goood.  Adieu. 

LETTER   XLV 

To  the  Same 

THE  ARDOUR  OF  THE  PEOPLE  OF  LONDON  IN  RUNNING  AFTER  SIGHTS 
AND  MONSTERS 

THOUGH  the  frequent  invitations  I  receive  from  men  of  dis- 
tinction here  might  excite  the  vanity  of  some,  I  am  quite  mor- 
tified, however,  when  I  consider  the  motives  thatinspire  their  civility. 
I  am  sent  for  not  to  be  treated  as  a  friend,  but  to  satisfy  curiosity; 
not  to  be  entertained  so  much  as  wondered  at,  the  same  earnestness 
which  excites  them  to  see  a  Chinese,  would  have  made  them  equally 
proud  of  a  visit  from  the  rhinoceros. 

435 


CITIZEN   OF   THE   WORLD 

From  the  highest  to  the  lowest,  this  people  seem  fond  of  sights 
and  monsters.  I  am  told  of  a  person  here  who  gets  a  very  comfort- 
able livelihood  by  making  wonders,  and  then  selling  or  showing 
them  to  the  people  for  money:  no  matter  how  insignificant  they 
were  in  the  beginning,  by  locking  them  up  close,  and  showing  for 
money,  they  soon  become  prodigies!  His  first  essay  in  this  way  was 
to  exhibit  himself  as  a  wax-work  figure  behind  a  glass  door  at  a  pup- 
pet show.  Thus,  keeping  the  spectators  at  a  proper  distance,  and 
having  his  head  adorned  with  a  copper  crown,  he  looked  "  extremely 
natural,  and  very  like  the  life  itself."  He  continued  this  exhibition 
with  success,  till  an  involuntary  fit  of  sneezing  brought  him  to  life 
before  all  the  spectators,  and  consequently  rendered  him  for  that 
time  as  entirely  useless  as  the  peaceable  inhabitant  of  a  catacomb. 

Determined  to  act  the  statue  no  more,  he  next  levied  contribu- 
tions under  the  figure  of  an  Indian  king;  and  by  painting  his  face, 
and  counterfeiting  the  savage  howl,  he  frighted  several  ladies  and 
children  with  amazing  success:  in  this  manner,  therefore,  he  might 
have  lived  very  comfortably,  had  he  not  been  arrested  for  a  debt 
that  was  contracted  when  he  was  the  figure  in  wax-work:  thus  his 
face  underwent  an  involuntary  ablution,  and  he  found  himself 
reduced  to  his  primitive  complexion  and  indigence. 

After  some  time,  being  freed  from  jail,  he  was  now  grown  wiser, 
and  instead  of  making  himself  a  wonder,  was  resolved  only  to  make 
wonders.  He  learned  the  art  of  pasting  up  mummies;  was  never 
at  a  loss  for  an  artificial  lusus  naturce;  nay,  it  has  been  reported, 
that  he  has  sold  seven  petrified  lobsters  of  his  own  manufacture 
to  a  noted  collector  of-  rarities ;  but  this  the  learned  Cracovius  Putri- 
dus  has  undertaken  to  refute  in  a  very  elaborate  dissertation. 

His  last  wonder  was  nothing  more  than  a  halter,  yet  by  this  halter 
he  gained  more  than  by  all  his  former  exhibitions.  The  people, 
it  seems,  had  got  it  in  their  heads,  that  a  certain  noble  criminal  was 
to  be  hanged  with  a  silken  rope.  Now,  there  was  nothing  they  s'o 
much  desired  to  see  as  this  very  rope ;  and  he  was  resolved  to  gratify 
their  curiosity:  he  therefore  got  one  made,  not  only  of  silk,  but, 
to  render  it  more  striking,  several  threads  of  gold  were  intermixed. 
The  people  paid  their  money  only  to  see  silk,  but  were  highly  satis- 
fied when  they  found  it  was  mixed  with  gold  into  the  bargain.  It 
is  scarcely  necessary  to  mention,  that  the  projector  sold  his  silken 
rope  for  almost  what  it  had  cost  him,  as  soon  as  the  criminal  was 
known  to  be  hanged  in  hempen  materials. 

436 


CITIZEN   OF  THE   WORLD 

By  their  fondness  of  sights,  one  would  be  apt  to  imagine  that 
instead  of  desiring  to  see  things  as  they  should  be,  they  are  rather 
solicitous  of  seeing  them  as  they  ought  not  to  be.  A  cat  with  four 
legs  is  disregarded,  though  never  so  useful;  but  if  it  has  but  two, 
and  is  consequently  incapable  of  catching  mice,  it  is  reckoned 
inestimable,  and  every  man  of  taste  is  ready  to  raise  the  auction. 
A  man,  though  in  his  person  faultless  as  an  aerial  genius,  might 
starve;  but  if  stuck  over  with  hideous  warts  like  a  porcupine,  his 
fortune  is  made  for  ever,  and  he  may  propagate  the  breed  with 
impunity  and  applause. 

A  good  woman  in  my  neighbourhood,  who  was  bred  a  habit- 
maker,  though  she  handled  her  needle  tolerably  well,  could  scarcely 
get  employment.  But  being  obliged  by  an  accident  to  have  both 
her  hands  cut  off  from  the  elbows,  what  would  in  another  country 
have  been  her  ruin,  made  her  fortune  here:  she  now  was  thought 
more  fit  for  her  trade  than  before ;  business  flowed  in  apace,  and  all 
people  paid  for  seeing  the  mantua-maker  who  wrought  without 
hands. 

A  gentleman,  showing  me  his  collection  of  pictures,  stopped  at 
one  with  peculiar  admiration:  "There,"  cries  he,  "is  an  inestimable 
piece."  I  gazed  at  the  picture  for  some  time,  but  could  see  none 
of  those  graces  with  which  he  seemed  enraptured;  it  appeared  to 
me  the  most  paltry  piece  of  the  whole  collection:  I  therefore  de- 
manded where  those  beauties  lay,  of  which  I  was  yet  insensible. 
"  Sir,"  cries  he,  "  the  merit  does  not  consist  in  the  piece,  but  in  the 
manner  in  which  it  was  done.  The  painter  drew  the  whole  with 
his  foot,  and  held  the  pencil  between  his  toes:  I  bought  it  at  a  very 
great  price;  for  peculiar  merit  should  ever  be  rewarded." 

But  these  people  are  not  more  fond  of  wonders,  than  liberal  in 
rewarding  those  who  show  them.  From  the  wonderful  dog  of 
knowledge,  at  present  under  the  patronage  of  the  nobility,  down 
to  the  man  with  the  box,  who  professes  to  show  "the  best  imita- 
tion of  Nature  that  was  ever  seen,"  they  all  live  in  luxury.  A  sing- 
ing woman  shall  collect  subscriptions  in  her  own  coach  and  six; 
a  fellow  shall  make  a  fortune  by  tossing  a  straw  from  his  toe  to 
his  nose;  one  in  particular  has  found  that  eating  fire  was  the  most 
ready  way  to  live;  and  another,  who  jingles  several  bells  fixed  to 
his  cap,  is  the  only  man  that  I  know  of  who  has  received  emolu- 
ment from  the  labours  of  his  head. 

A  young  author,  a  man  of  good-nature  and  learning,  was  com- 

437 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

plaining  to  me  some  nights  ago  of  this  misplaced  generosity  of  the 
times.  "  Here,"  says  he,  "  have  I  spent  part  of  my  youth  in  attempt- 
ing to  instruct  and  amuse  my  fellow-creatures,  and  all  my  reward 
has  been  solitude,  and  reproach;  while  a  fellow,  possessed  of  even 
poverty,  the  smallest  share  of  fiddling  merit,  or  who  has  perhaps 
learned  to  whistle  double,  is  rewarded,  applauded,  and  caressed!" 
—  "Prithee,  young  man,"  says  I  to  him,  "are  you  ignorant,  that 
in  so  large  a  city  as  this,  it  is  better  to  be  an  amusing  than  a  useful 
member  of  society?  Can  you  leap  up,  and  touch  your  feet  four 
times  before  you  come  to  the  ground?"  —  "No,  sir."  —  "Can 
you  pimp  for  a  man  of  quality  ? "  —  "  No,  sir."  —  "  Can  you  stand 
upon  two  horses  at  full  speed  ?  "  —  "  No,  sir."  —  "  Can  you  swallow 
a  penknife?"  —  "I  can  do  none  of  these  tricks." — "Why  then," 
cried  I,  "there  is  no  other  prudent  means  of  subsistence  left,  but 
to  apprize  the  town  that  you  speedily  intend  to  eat  up  your  own 
nose,  by  subscription." 

I  have  frequently  regretted  that  none  of  our  Eastern  posture- 
masters,  or  showmen,  have  ever  ventured  to  England.  I  should 
be  pleased  to  see  that  money  circulate  in  Asia,  which  is  now  sent  to 
Italy  and  France,  in  order  to  bring  their  vagabonds  hither.  Several 
of  our  tricks  would  undoubtedly  give  the  English  high  satisfaction. 
Men  of  fashion  would  be  greatly  pleased  with  the  postures  as  well 
as  the  condescension  of  our  dancing  girls;  and  the  ladies  would 
equally  admire  the  conductors  of  our  fireworks.  What  an  agreeable 
surprise  would  it  be  to  see  a  huge  fellow  with  whiskers  flash  a 
charged  blunderbuss  full  in  a  lady's  face,  without  singeing  her  hair, 
or  melting  her  pomatum.  Perhaps,  when  the  first  surprise  was 
over,  she  might  then  grow  familiar  with  danger;  and  the  ladies 
might  vie  with  each  other  in  standing  fire  with  intrepidity. 

But  of  all  the  wonders  of  the  East,  the  most  useful,  and  I  should 
fancy  the  most  pleasing,  would  be  the  looking-glass  of  Lao,  which 
reflects  the  mind  as  well  as  the  body.  It  is  said,  that  the  Emperor 
Chusi  used  to  make  his  concubines  dress  their  heads  and  their 
hearts  in  one  of  these  glasses  every  morning:  while  the  lady  was  at 
her  toilet,  he  would  frequently  look  over  her  shoulder;  and  it  is 
recorded,  that  among  the  three  hundred  which  composed  his 
seraglio,  not  one  was  found  whose  mind  was  not  even  more  beauti- 
ful than  her  person. 

I  make  no  doubt  but  a  glass  in  this  country  would  have  the  very 
same  effect.  The  English  ladies,  concubines  and  all,  would 

438 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

undoubtedly  cut  very  pretty  figures  in  so  faithful  a  monitor.  There, 
should  we  happen  to  peep  over  a  lady's  shoulder  while  dressing, 
we  might  be  able  to  see  neither  gaming  nor  ill-nature ;  neither  pride, 
debauchery,  nor  a  love  of  gadding.  We  should  find  her,  if  any 
sensible  defect  appeared  in  the  mind,  more  careful  in  rectifying  it, 
than  plastering  up  the  irreparable  decays  of  the  person ;  nay,  I  am 
even  apt  to  fancy,  that  ladies  would  find  more  real  pleasure  in  this 
utensil  in  private,  than  in  any  other  bauble  imported  from  China, 
though  never  so  expensive  or  amusing. 


LETTER  XLVI 

To  the  Same 
[THE  LOOKING-GLASS  OF  LAO],  A  DREAM 

UPON  finishing  my  last  letter,  I  retired  to  rest,  reflecting  upon 
the  wonders  of  the  glass  of  Lao,  wishing  to"  be  possessed  of 
one  here,  and  resolved,  in  such  a  case,  to  oblige  every  lady  with  a 
sight  of  it  for  nothing.  What  fortune  denied  me  waking,  fancy 
supplied  in  a  dream:  the  glass,  I  know  not  how,  was  put  into  my 
possession,  and  I  could  perceive  several  ladies  approaching,  some 
voluntarily,  others  driven  forward  against  their  wills,  by  a  set  of 
discontented  genii,  whom,  by  intuition,  I  knew  were  their  husbands. 

The  apartment  in  which  I  was  to  show  away,  was  filled  with 
several  gaming-tables,  as  if  just  forsaken ;  the  candles  were  burnt  to 
the  socket,  and  the  hour  was  five  o'clock  hi  the  morning.  Placed  at 
one  end  of  the  room,  which  was  of  prodigious  length,  I  could  more 
easily  distinguish  every  female  figure  as  she  marched  up  from  the 
door;  but,  guess  my  surprise,  when  I  could  scarce  perceive  one 
blooming  or  agreeable  face  among  the  number.  This,  however,  I 
attributed  to  the  early  hour,  and  kindly  considered  that  the  face  of 
a  lady  just  risen  from  bed,  ought  always  to  find  a  compassionate 
advocate. 

The  first  person  who  came  up  hi  order  to  view  her  intellectual 
face,  was  a  commoner's  wife,  who,  as  I  afterwards  found,  being 
bred  up  during  her  virginity  in  a  pawn-broker's  shop,  now  attempted 
to  make  up  the  defects  of  breeding  and  sentiment  by  the  magnifi- 
cence of  her  dress,  and  the  expensiveness  of  her  amusements.  "  Mr. 
Showman,"  cried  she,  approaching,  "I  am  told  you  has  something 

439 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

to  show  in  that  there  sort  of  magic  lantern,  by  which  folks  can  see 
themselves  on  the  inside:  I  protest,  as  my  Lord  Beetle  says,  I  am 
sure  it  will  be  vastly  pretty,  for  I  have  never  seen  anything  like  it 
before.  But  how,  —  Are  we  to  strip  off  our  clothes,  and  be  turned 
inside  out?  if  so,  as  Lord  Beetle  says,  I  absolutely  declare  off;  for 
I  would  not  strip  for  the  world  before  a  man's  face,  and  so  I  tells 
his  Lordship  almost  every  night  of  my  life."  I  informed  the 
lady  that  I  would  dispense  with  the  ceremony  of  stripping,  and 
immediately  presented  my  glass  to  her  view. 

As  when  a  first-rate  beauty,  after  having  with  difficulty  escaped 
the  small-pox,  revisits  her  favourite  mirror  —  that  mirror  which 
had  repeated  the  flattery  of  every  lover,  and  even  added  force  to 
the  compliment  —  expecting  to  see  what  had  so  often  given  her 
pleasure,  she  no  longer  beholds  the  cherry  lip,  the  polished  forehead, 
and  speaking  blush,  but  a  hateful  phiz,  quilted  into  a  thousand 
seams  by  the  hand  of  deformity ;  grief,  resentment,  and  rage  fill  her 
bosom  by  turns  —  she  blames  the  fates  and  stars,  but,  most  of  all, 
the  unhappy  glass  feels  her  resentment:  So  it  was  with  the  lady 
hi  question;  she  had  never  seen  her  own  mind  before,  and  was  now 
shocked  at  its  deformity.  One  single  look  was  sufficient  to  satisfy 
her  curiosity:  I  held  up  the  glass  to  her  face,  and  she  shut  her  eyes; 
no  entreaties  could  prevail  upon  her  to  gaze  once  more !  She  was 
even  going  to  snatch  it  from  my  hands,  and  break  it  in  a  thousand 
pieces.  I  found  it  was  time,  therefore,  to  dismiss  her  as  incorrigible, 
and  show  away  to  the  next  that  offered. 

This  was  an  unmarried  lady,  who  continued  in  a  state  of  virginity 
till  thirty-six,  and  then  admitted  a  lover  when  she  despaired  of  a 
husband.  No  woman  was  louder  at  a  revel  than  she,  perfectly  free 
hearted,  and  almost,  in  every  respect  a  man;  she  understood  ridicule 
to  perfection,  and  was  once  known  even  to  sally  out  in  order  to 
beat  the  watch.  "Here,  you,  my  dear,  with  the  outlandish  face," 
said  she,  addressing  me,  "let  me  take  a  single  peep.  Not  that  I 
care  three  damns  what  figure  I  may  cut  in  the  glass  of  such  an  old- 
fashioned  creature:  if  I  am  allowed  the  beauties  of  the  face  by 
people  of  fashion,  I  know  the  world  will  be  complaisant  enough  to 
toss  me  the  beauties  of  the  mind  into  the  bargain."  I  held  my  glass 
before  her  as  she  desired,  and,  must  confess,  was  shocked  with  the 
reflection.  The  lady,  however,  gazed  for  some  time  with  the  utmost 
complacency;  and,  at  last,  turning  to  me  with  the  most  satisfied 
smile,  said,  she  never  could  think  she  had  been  half  so  handsome. 

440 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

Upon  her  dismission,  a  lady  of  distinction  was  reluctantly  hauled 
along  to  the  glass  by  her  husband.  In  bringing  her  forward,  as  he 
came  first  to  the  glass  himself,  his  mind  appeared  tinctured  with 
immoderate  jealousy,  and  I  was  going  to  reproach  him  for  using 
her  with  such  severity;  but  when  the  lady  came  to  present  herself, 
I  immediately  retracted:  for,  alas!  it  was  seen  that  he  had  but  too 
much  reason  for  his  suspicions. 

The  next  was  a  lady  who  usually  teased  all  her  acquaintance, 
desiring  to  be  told  of  her  faults,  and  then  never  mended  any. 
Upon  approaching  the  glass,  I  could  readily  perceive  vanity,  affecta- 
tion, and  some  other  ill-looking  blots  on  her  mind;  wherefore,  by 
my  advice,  she  immediately  set  about  mending.  But  I  could 
easily  find  she  was  not  earnest  hi  the  work;  for  as  she  repaired 
them  on  one  side,  they  generally  broke  out  on  another.  Thus, 
after  three  or  four  attempts,  she  began  to  make  the  ordinary  use  of 
the  glass  in  settling  her  hair. 

The  company  now  made  room  for  a  woman  of  learning,  who 
approached  with  a  slow  pace  and  a  solemn  countenance,  which, 
for  her  own  sake,  I  could  wish  had  been  cleaner.  "  Sir,"  cried  the 
lady,  flourishing  her  hand,  which  held  a  pinch  of  snuff,  "  I  shall  be 
enraptured  by  having  presented  to  my  view  a  mind,  with  which  I 
have  so  long  studied  to  be  acquainted ;  but,  in  order  to  give  the  sex 
a  proper  example,  I  must  insist,  that  all  the  company  may  be  per- 
mitted to  look  over  my  shoulder."  I  bowed  assent,  and,  present- 
ing the  glass,  showed  the  lady  a  mind  by  no  means  so  fair  as  she 
had  expected  to  see.  Ill-nature,  ill-placed  pride,  and  spleen,  were 
too  legible  to  be  mistaken.  Nothing  could  be  more  amusing  than 
the  mirth  of  her  female  companions  who  had  looked  over.  They 
had  hated  her  from  the  beginning,  and  now  the  apartment  echoed 
with  a  universal  laugh.  Nothing  but  a  fortitude  like  hers  could 
have  withstood  their  raillery:  she  stood  it,  however;  and,  when  the 
burst  was  exhausted,  with  great  tranquillity  she  assured  the  com- 
pany, that  the  whole  was  a  deceptio  visus,  and  that  she  was  too  well 
acquainted  with  her  own  mind  to  believe  any  false  representations 
from  another.  Thus  saying,  she  retired  with  a  sullen  satisfaction, 
resolved  not  to  mend  her  faults,  but  to  write  a  criticism  on  the 
mental  reflector. 

I  must  own,  by  this  time,  I  began  myself  to  suspect  the  fidelity 
of  my  mirror;  for,  as  the  ladies  appeared  at  least  to  have  the  merit 
of  rising  early,  since  they  were  up  at  five,  I  was  amazed  to  find 

441 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

nothing  of  this  good  quality  pictured  upon  their  minds  in  the  reflec- 
tion: I  was  resolved,  therefore,  to  communicate  my  suspicions  to  a 
lady  whose  intellectual  countenance  appeared  more  fair  than  any 
of  the  rest  not  having  above  seventy-nine  spots  in  all,  besides  slips 
and  foibles.  "I  own,  young  woman,"  said  I,  "that  there  are  some 
virtues  upon  that  mind  of  yours;  but  there  is  still  one  which  I  do 
not  see  represented,  I  mean  that  of  rising  betimes  in  the  morning 
—  I  fancy  the  glass  false  in  that  particular."  The  young  lady 
smiled  at  my  simplicity;  and,  with  a  blush,  confessed,  that  she  and 
the  whole  company  had  been  up  all  night  gaming. 

By  this  time  all  the  ladies,  except  one,  had  seen  themselves  suc- 
cessively, and  disliked  the  show,  or  scolded  the  showman:  I  was 
resolved,  however,  that  she  who  seemed  to  neglect  herself,  and  was 
neglected  by  the  rest,  should  take  a  view;  and,  going  up  to  a  corner 
of  the  room  where  she  still  continued  sitting,  I  presented  my  glass 
full  in  her  face.  Here  it  was  that  I  exulted  in  my  success ;  no  blot, 
no  stain  appeared  on  any  part  of  the  faithful  mirror.  As  when  the 
large  unwritten  page  presents  its  snowy  spotless  bosom  to  the 
writer's  hand,  so  appeared  the  glass  to  my  view.  "Here,  O  ye 
daughters  of  English  ancestors!"  cried  I,  "turn  hither,  and 
behold  an  object  worthy  imitation!  Look  upon  the  mirror  now, 
and  acknowledge  its  justice,  and  this  woman's  pre-eminence!" 
The  ladies,  obeying  the  summons,  came  up  in  a  group,  and  looking 
on,  acknowledged  there  was  some  truth  in  the  picture,  as  the  person 
now  represented  had  been  deaf,  dumb,  and  a  fool  from  her  cradle ! 

Thus  much  of  my  dream  I  distinctly  remember;  the  rest  was 
filled  with  chimeras,  enchanted  castles,  and  flying  dragons  as 
usual.  As  you,  my  dear  Fum  Hoam,  are  particularly  versed  in  the 
interpretation  of  those  midnight  warnings,  what  pleasure  should  I 
find  in  your  explanation !  But  that  our  distance  prevents :  I  make 
no  doubt,  however,  but  that,  from  my  description,  you  will  very 
much  venerate  the  good  qualities  of  the  English  ladies  in  general, 
since  dreams,  you  know,  go  always  by  contraries.  Adieu. 


442 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

LETTER  LI 

To  the  Same 
A  BOOKSELLER'S  VISIT  TO  THE  CHINESE  PHILOSOPHER 

AS  I  was  yesterday  seated  at  breakfast  over  a  pensive  dish  of 
tea,  my  meditations  were  interrupted  by  my  old  friend  and 
companion,  who  introduced  a  stranger,  dressed  pretty  much  like 
himself.  The  gentleman  made  several  apologies  for  his  visit, 
begged  of  me  to  impute  his  intrusion  to  the  sincerity  of  his  respect, 
and  the  warmth  of  his  curiosity. 

As  I  am  very  suspicious  of  my  company  when  I  find  them  very 
civil  without  any  apparent  reason,  I  answered  the  stranger's  caresses 
at  first  with  reserve;  which  my  friend  perceiving,  instantly  let  me 
into  my  visitant's  trade  and  character,  asking  Mr.  Fudge,  whether 
he  had  lately  published  any  thing  new?  I  now  conjectured  that 
my  guest  was  no  other  than  a  bookseller,  and  his  answer  confirmed 
my  suspicions. 

"Excuse  me,  Sir,"  says  he,  "it  is  not  the  season;  books  have 
their  time  as  well  as  cucumbers.  I  would  no  more  bring  out  a  new 
work  in  summer,  than  I  would  sell  pork  hi  the  dog  days.  Nothing 
in  my  way  goes  off  in  summer,  except  very  light  goods  indeed. 
A  review,  a  magazine,  or  a  Sessions  paper,  may  amuse  a  summer 
reader;  but  all  our  stock  of  value  we  reserve  for  a  spring  and  winter 
trade."  "I  must  confess,  Sir,"  says  I,  "a  curiosity  to  know  what 
you  call  a  valuable  stock,  which  can  only  bear  a  winter  perusal." 
"Sir,"  replied  the  bookseller,  "it  is  not  my  way  to  cry  up  my  own 
goods;  but,  without  exaggeration,  I  will  venture  to  show  with  any 
of  the  trade:  my  books  at  least  have  the  peculiar  advantage  of 
being  always  new ;  and  it  is  my  way  to  clear  off  my  old  to  the  trunk- 
makers  every  season.  I  have  ten  new  title-pages  now  about  me, 
which  only  want  books  to  be  added  to  make  them  the  finest  things 
in  nature.  Others  may  pretend  to  direct  the  vulgar;  but  that  is 
not  my  way;  I  always  let  the  vulgar  direct  me;  wherever  popular 
clamour  arises,  I  always  echo  the  million.  For  instance,  should 
the  people  in  general  say,  that  such  a  man  is  a  rogue,  I  instantly 
give  orders  to  set  him  down  in  print  a  villain ;  thus  every  roan  buys 
the  book,  not  to  learn  new  sentiments,  but  to  have  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  his  own  reflected." — "But,  Sir,"  interrupted  I,  "you 

443 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

speak  as  if  you  yourself  wrote  the  books  you  publish;  may  I  be  so 
bold  as  to  ask  a  sight  of  some  of  those  intended  publications  which 
are  shortly  to  surprise  the  world?"  —  "As  to  that,  Sir,"  replied 
the  talkative  bookseller,  "I  only  draw  out  the  plans  myself;  and 
though  I  am  very  cautious  of  communicating  them  to  any,  yet, 
as  in  the  end  I  have  a  favour  to  ask,  you  shall  see  a  few  of  them. 
Here,  Sir,  here  they  are;  diamonds  of  the  first  water,  I  assure  you. 
Imprimis,  a  Translation  of  several  Medical  precepts  for  the  use  of 
such  physicians  as  do  not  understand  Latin.  Item,  the  Young 
Clergyman's  art  of  placing  patches  regularly,  with  a  Dissertation 
on  the  different  manners  of  smiling  without  distorting  the  face. 
Item,  the  whole  Art  of  Love  made  perfectly  easy,  by  a  broker  of 
'Change  Alley.  Item,  the  proper  manner  of  Cutting  blacklead 
pencils,  and  making  crayons,  by  the  Right  Hon.  the  Earl  of  *  *  *. 
Item,  the  Muster-master-general,  or  the  review  of  reviews."  - 
"Sir,"  cried  I,  interrupting  him,  "my  curiosity,  with  regard  to 
title-pages,  is  satisfied;  I  should  be  glad  to  see  some  longer  manu- 
script, a  history,  or  an  epic  poem." -—" Bless  me!"  cries  the  man 
of  industry,  "now  you  speak  of  an  epic  poem,  you  shall  see  an 
excellent  farce.  Here  it  is;  dip  into  it  where  you  will,  it  will  be 
found  replete  with  true  modern  humour.  Strokes,  Sir;  it  is  filled 
with  strokes  of  wit  and  satire  in  every  line."  -—  "  Do  you  call  these 
dashes  of  the  pen  strokes,"  replied  I,  "for  I  must  confess  I  can 
see  no  other?"-  — "And  pray,  Sir,"  returned  he,  "what  do  you 
call  them?  Do  you  see  any  thing  good  now-a-days,  that  is  not 
filled  with  strokes  —  and  dashes  ?  —  Sir,  a  well  placed  dash  makes 
half  the  wit  of  our  writers  of  modern  humour.  I  bought  a  piece 
last  season  that  had  no  other  merit  upon  earth  than  nine  hundred 
and  ninety-five  breaks,  seventy-two  ha-ha's,  three  good  things, 
and  a  garter.  And  yet  it  played  off,  and  bounced,  and  cracked, 
and  made  more  sport  than  a  firework."  -—  "I  fancy,  then,  Sir,  you 
were  a  considerable  gainer  ? "  •  —  "  It  must  be  owned  the  piece  did 
pay;  but,  upon  the  whole,  I  cannot  much  boast  of  last  winter's  suc- 
cess; I  gained  by  two  murders;  but  then  I  lost  by  an  ill-timed 
charity  sermon.  I  was  a  considerable  sufferer  by  my  Direct  Road 
to  an  Estate,  but  the  Infernal  Guide  brought  me  up  again.  Ah, 
Sir,  that  was  a  piece  touched  off  by  the  hand  of  a  master;  filled  with 
good  things  from  one  end  to  the  other.  The  author  had  nothing 
but  the  jest  in  view;  no  dull  moral  lurking  beneath,  nor  ill-natured 
satire  to  sour  the  reader's  good -humour;  he  wisely  considered,  that 

444 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

moral  and  humour  at  the  same  time  were  quite  overdoing  the 
business."  —  "To  what  purpose  was  the  book  then  published?" 
cried  I.  —  "  Sir,  the  book  was  published  in  order  to  be  sold ;  and  no 
book  sold  better,  except  the  criticisms  upon  it,  which  came  out  soon 
after:  of  all  kinds  of  writing,  that  goes  off  best  at  present;  and  I 
generally  fasten  a  criticism  upon  every  selling  book  that  is  pub- 
lished. 

"I  once  had  an  author  who  never  left  the  least  opening  for  the 
critics:  close  was  the  word;  always  very  right  and  very  dull;  ever  on 
the  safe  side  of  an  argument;  yet,  with  all  his  qualifications,  incapa- 
ble of  coming  into  favour.  I  soon  perceived  that  his  bent  was  for 
criticism;  and,  as  he  was  good  for  nothing  else,  supplied  him  with 
pens  and  paper,  and  planted  him,  at  the  beginning  of  every  month, 
as  a  censor  on  the  works  of  others.  In  short,  I  found  him  a  trea- 
sure; no  merit  could  escape  him;  but  what  is  most  remarkable  of  all, 
he  ever  wrote  best  and  bitterest  when  drunk."  "But  are  there 
not  some  works,"  interrupted  I,  "that,  from  the  very  manner  of 
their  composition,  must  be  exempt  from  criticism;  particularly 
such  as  profess  to  disregard  its  laws  ? "  — "  There  is  no  work 
whatsoever  but  he  can  criticise,"  replied  the  bookseller;  "even 
though  you  wrote  in  Chinese,  he  would  have  a  pluck  at  you.  Sup- 
pose you  should  take  it  into  your  head  to  publish  a  book,  let  it  be  a 
volume  of  Chinese  letters,  for  instance ;  write  how  you  will,  he  shall 
show  the  world  you  could  have  written  better.  Should  you,  with 
the  most  local  exactness,  stick  to  the  manners  and  customs  of  the 
country  from  whence  you  come;  should  you  confine  yourself  to 
the  narrow  limits  of  Eastern  knowledge,  and  be  perfectly  simple, 
and  perfectly  natural,  he  has  then  the  strongest  reason  to  exclaim. 
He  may,  with  a  sneer,  send  you  back  to  China  for  readers.  He 
may  observe,  that  after  the  first  or  second  letter,  the  iteration  of  the 
same  simplicity  is  insupportably  tedious.  But  the  worst  of  all  is, 
the  public,  in  such  a  case,  will  anticipate  his  censures,  and  leave  you, 
with  all  your  uninstructive  simplicity,  to  be  mauled  at  discretion." 

"Yes,"  cried  I,  "but  in  order  to  avoid  his  indignation,  and,  what 
I  should  fear  more,  that  of  the  public,  I  would,  in  such  a  case, 
write  with  all  the  knowledge  I  was  master  of.  As  I  am  not  possessed 
of  much  learning,  at  least  I  would  not  suppress  what  little  I  had; 
nor  would  I  appear  more  stupid  than  nature  made  me."  —  "Here, 
then,"  cries  the  bookseller,  "we  should  have  you  entirely  in  our 
power;  unnatural,  un-Eastern,  quite  out  of  character,  erroneously 

445 


CITIZEN    OF   THE    WORLD 

sensible,  would  be  the  whole  cry.  Sir,  we  should  then  hunt  you 
down  like  a  rat."  —  "Head  of  my  father!"  said  I,  "sure  there  are 
but  two  ways;  the  door  must  either  be  shut  or  it  must  be  open.  I 
must  either  be  natural  or  unnatural."-— "Be  what  you  will,  we 
shall  criticise  you,"  returned  the  bookseller,  "and  prove  you  a 
dunce  in  spite  of  your  teeth.  But,  Sir,  it  is  time  that  I  should  come 
to  business.  I  have  just  now  in  the  press  a  history  of  China;  and 
if  you  will  but  put  your  name  to  it  as  the  author,  I  shall  repay  the 
obligation  with  gratitude."  —  "What,  Sir!"  replied  I,  "put  my 
name  to  a  work  which  I  have  not  written  ?  Never,  while  I  retain 
a  proper  respect  for  the  public  and  myself."  The  bluntness  of 
my  reply  quite  abated  the  ardour  of  the  bookseller's  conversation  ; 
and,  after  about  half  an  hour's  disagreeable  reserve,  he,  with  some 
ceremony,  took  his  leave,  and  withdrew.  Adieu. 


LETTER  LII 

To  the  Same 

THE  IMPOSSIBILITY  OF  DISTINGUISHING  MEN  IN  ENGLAND  BY  THEIR 
DRESS.      TWO  INSTANCES  OF  THIS 

IN  all  other  countries,  my  dear  Fum  Hoam,  the  rich  are  distin- 
guished by  their  dress.  In  Persia,  China,  and  most  parts  of 
Europe,  those  who  are  possessed  of  much  gold  or  silver,  put  some 
of  it  upon  their  clothes;  but  in  England,  those  who  carry  much  upon 
their  clothes,  are  remarked  for  having  but  little  in  their  pockets.  A 
tawdry  outside  is  regarded  as  a  badge  of  poverty;  and  those  who 
can  sit  at  home,  and  gloat  over  their  thousands  in  silent  satisfaction, 
are  generally  found  to  do  it  in  plain  clothes. 

This  diversity  of  thinking  from  the  rest  of  the  world  which  pre- 
vails here,  I  was,  at  first,  at  a  loss  to  account  for;  but  am  since  in- 
formed, that  it  was  introduced  by  an  intercourse  between  them  and 
their  neighbours  the  French,  who,  whenever  they  came  in  order  to 
pay  these  islanders  a  visit,  were  generally  very  well  dressed,  and  very 
poor,  daubed  with  lace,  but  all  the  gilding  on  the  outside.  By 
this  means  laced  clothes  have  been  brought  so  much  into  contempt, 
that,  at  present,  even  their  mandarines  are  ashamed  of  finery. 

I  must  own  myself  a  convert  to  English  simplicity ;  I  am  no  more 
for  ostentation  of  wealth  than  of  learning:  the  person  who  in  com- 

446 


CITIZEN   OF   THE   WORLD 

pany  should  pretend  to  be  wiser  than  others,  I  am  apt  to  regard 
as  illiterate  and  ill-bred;  the  person  whose  clothes  are  extremely 
fine,  I  am  too  apt  to  consider  as  not  being  possessed  of  any  superior- 
ity of  fortune,  but  resembling  those  Indians  who  are  found  to  wear 
all  the  gold  they  have  in  the  world  in  a  bob  at  the  nose. 

I  was  lately  introduced  into  a  company  of  the  best  dressed  men 
I  have  seen  since  my  arrival.  Upon  entering  the  room,  I  was 
struck  with  awe  at  the  grandeur  of  the  different  dresses.  That 
personage,  thought  I,  in  blue  and  gold  must  be  some  emperor's 
son ;  that  in  green  and  silver,  a  prince  of  the  blood;  he  in  embroidered 
scarlet,  a  prime  minister;  all  first  rate  noblemen,  I  suppose,  and 
well-looking  noblemen  too.  I  sat  for  some  time  with  that  uneasi- 
ness which  conscious  inferiority  produces  in  the  ingenuous  mind, 
all  attention  to  their  discourse.  However,  I  found  their  conversa- 
tion more  vulgar  than  I  could  have  expected  from  personages  of 
such  distinction :  If  these,  thought  I  to  myself,  be  princes,  they  are 
the  most  stupid  princes  I  have  ever  conversed  with:  yet  still  I  con- 
tinued to  venerate  their  dress;  for  dress  has  a  kind  of  mechanical 
influence  on  the  mind. 

My  friend  in  black,  indeed,  did  not  behave  with  the  same  defer- 
ence, but  contradicted  the  finest  of  them  all  in  the  most  peremptory 
tones  of  contempt.  But  I  had  scarce  time  to  wonder  at  the  impru- 
dence of  his  conduct,  when  I  found  occasion  to  be  equally  surprised 
at  the  absurdity  of  theirs;  for  upon  the  entrance  of  a  middle-aged 
man,  dressed  in  a  cap,  dirty  shirt,  and  boots,  the  whole  circle  seemed 
diminished  of  their  former  importance,  and  contended  who  should 
be  first  to  pay  their  obeisance  to  the  stranger.  They  somewhat 
resembled  a  circle  of  Kalmucs  offering  incense  to  a  bear. 

Eager  to  know  the  cause  of  so  much  seeming  contradiction,  I 
whispered  my  friend  out  of  the  room,  and  found  that  the  august 
company  consisted  of  no  other  than  a  dancing  master,  two  fiddlers, 
and  a  third-rate  actor,  all  assembled  in  order  to  make  a  set  at 
country  dances;  as  the  middle-aged  gentleman  whom  I  saw  enter, 
was  a  'squire  from  the  country,  desirous  of  learning  the  new  manner 
of  footing,  and  smoothing  up  the  rudiments  of  his  rural  minuet. 

I  was  no  longer  surprised  at  the  authority  which  my  friend  as- 
sumed among  them  —  nay,  was  even  displeased  (pardon  my 
Eastern  education)  that  he  had  not  kicked  every  creature  of  them 
down  stairs.  "What,"  said  I,  "shall  a  set  of  such  paltry  fellows 
dress  themselves  up  like  sons  of  kings,  and  claim  even  the  transi- 

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CITIZEN   OF   THE   WORLD 

tory  respect  of  half  an  hour !  There  should  be  some  law  to  restrain 
so  manifest  a  breach  of  privilege;  they  should  go  from  house  to 
house  as  in  China,  with  the  instruments  of  their  profession  strung 
round  their  necks ;  by  this  means,  we  might  be  able  to  distinguish 
and  treat  them  in  a  style  of  becoming  contempt."  •— "Hold,  my 
friend,"  replied  my  companion,  "were  your  reformation  to  take 
place,  as  dancing  masters  and  fiddlers  now  mimic  gentlemen  in 
appearance,  we  should  then  find  our  fine  gentlemen  conforming 
to  theirs.  A  beau  might  be  introduced  to  a  lady  of  fashion  with 
a  fiddle-case  hanging  at  his  neck  by  a  red  riband ;  and,  instead  of  a 
cane,  might  carry  a  fiddlestick.  Though  to  be  as  dull  as  a  first- 
rate  dancing  master  might  be  used  with  proverbial  justice;  yet,  dull 
as  he  is,  many  a  fine  gentleman  sets  him  up  as  the  proper  standard 
of  politeness;  copies  not  only  the  pert  vivacity  of  his  air,  but  the 
flat  insipidity  of  his  conversation.  In  short,  if  you  make  a  law 
against  dancing  masters  imitating  the  fine  gentleman,  you  should 
with  as  much  reason  enact,  that  no  fine  gentleman  shall  imitate 
the  dancing  master." 

After  I  had  left  my  friend,  I  made  towards  home,  reflecting  as 
I  went  upon  the  difficulty  of  distinguishing  men  by  their  appearance. 
Invited,  however,  by  the  freshness  of  the  evening,  I  did  not  return 
directly,  but  went  to  ruminate  on  what  had  passed  in  a  public 
garden  belonging  to  the  city.  Here,  as  I  sat  upon  one  of  the 
benches,  and  felt  the  pleasing  sympathy  which  nature  in  bloom 
inspires,  a  disconsolate  figure  who  sat  on  the  other  end  of  the  seat, 
seemed  no  way  to  enjoy  the  serenity  of  the  season. 

His  dress  was  miserable  beyond  description;  a  thread-bare  coat, 
of  the  rudest  materials;  a  shirt,  though  clean,  yet  extremely  coarse; 
hair  that  seemed  to  have  been  long  unconscious  of  the  comb;  and 
all  the  rest  of  his  equipage  impressed  with  the  marks  of  genuine 
poverty. 

As  he  continued  to  sigh,  and  testify  every  symptom  of  despair, 
I  was  naturally  led,  from  a  motive  of  humanity,  to  offer  comfort 
and  assistance.  You  know  my  heart ;  and  that  all  who  are  miserable 
may  claim  a  place  there.  The  pensive  stranger  at  first  declined  any 
conversation ;  but  at  last  perceiving  a  peculiarity  in  my  accent  and 
manner  of  thinking,  he  began  to  unfold  himself  by  degrees. 

I  now  found  that  he  was  not  so  very  miserable  as  he  at  first  ap- 
peared; upon  my  offering  him  a  small  piece  of  money,  he  refused 
my  favour,  yet  without  appearing  displeased  at  my  intended  gen- 

448 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

erosity.  It  is  true,  he  sometimes  interrupted  the  conversation  with 
a  sigh,  and  talked  pathetically  of  neglected  merit;  yet  still  I  could 
perceive  a  serenity  in  his  countenance,  that,  upon  a  closer  inspec- 
tion, bespoke  inward  content. 

Upon  a  pause  in  the  conversation,  I  was  going  to  take  my  leave, 
when  he  begged  I  would  favour  him  with  my  company  home  to 
supper.  I  was  surprised  at  such  a  demand  from  a  person  of  his 
appearance,  but,  willing  to  indulge  curiosity,  I  accepted  his  invita- 
tion ;  and,  though  I  felt  some  repugnance  at  being  seen  with  one  who 
appeared  so  very  wretched,  went  along  with  seeming  alacrity. 

Still  as  he  approached  nearer  home,  his  good  humour  propor- 
tionably  seemed  to  increase.  At  last  he  stopped,  not  at  the  gate 
of  a  hovel,  but  of  a  magnificent  palace !  When  I  cast  my  eyes  upon 
all  the  sumptuous  elegance  which  every  where  presented  upon  enter- 
ing, and  then  when  I  looked  at  my  seeming  miserable  conductor, 
I  could  scarce  think  that  all  this  finery  belonged  to  him ;  yet  in  fact 
it  did.  Numerous  servants  ran  through  the  apartments  with  silent 
assiduity;  several  ladies  of  beauty,  and  magnificently  dressed,  came 
to  welcome  his  return;  a  most  elegant  supper  was  provided:  in 
short,  I  found  the  person  whom  a  little  before  I  had  sincerely  pitied, 
to  be  in  reality  a  most  refined  epicure:  —  one  who  courted  contempt 
abroad,  in  order  to  feel  with  keener  gust  the  pleasure  of  pre-emi- 
nence at  home.  Adieu. 

LETTER  Lin 

To  the  Same 

THE  ABSURD  TASTE  FOR  CERTAIN  FORMS  OF  LITERATURE 

HOW  often  have  we  admired  the  eloquence  of  Europe!  that 
strength  of  thinking,  that  delicacy  of  imagination,  even  be- 
yond the  efforts  of  the  Chinese  themselves.  How  were  we  enrap- 
tured with  those  bold  figures  which  sent  every  sentiment  with  force 
to  the  heart.  How  have  we  spent  whole  days  together,  in  learning 
those  arts  by  which  European  writers  got  within  the  passions,  and 
led  the  reader  as  if  by  enchantment. 

But  though  we  have  learned  most  of  the  rhetorical  figures  of  the 
last  age,  yet  there  seems  to  be  one  or  two  of  great  use  here,  which 
have  not  yet  travelled  to  China.  The  figures  I  mean  are  called 
Bawdy  and  Pertness:  none  are  more  fashionable  —  none  so  sure 

449 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

of  admirers;  they  are  of  such  a  nature,  that  the  merest  blockhead, 
by  a  proper  use  of  them,  shall  have  the  reputation  of  a  wit ;  they  lie 
level  to  the  meanest  capacities,  and  address  those  passions  which 
all  have,  or  would  be  ashamed  to  disown. 

It  has  been  observed,  and  I  believe  with  some  truth,  that  it  is 
very  difficult  for  a  dunce  to  obtain  the  reputation  of  a  wit;  yet, 
by  the  assistance  of  the  figure  Bawdy,  this  may  be  easily  effected, 
and  a  bawdy  blockhead  often  passes  for  a  fellow  of  smart  parts  and 
pretensions.  Every  object  in  nature  helps  the  jokes  forward, 
without  scarce  any  effort  of  the  imagination.  If  a  lady  stands, 
something  very  good  may  be  said  upon  that;  if  she  happens  to  fall, 
with  the  help  of  a  little  fashionable  pruriency,  there  are  forty  sly 
things  ready  on  the  occasion.  But  a  prurient  jest  has  always  been 
found  to  give  most  pleasure  to  a  few  very  old  gentlemen,  who,  being 
in  some  measure  dead  to  other  sensations,  feel  the  force  of  the  allu- 
sion with  double  violence  on  the  organs  of  risibility. 

An  author  who  writes  in  this  manner  is  generally  sure,  therefore, 
of  having  the  very  old  and  the  impotent  among  his  admirers;  for 
these  he  may  properly  be  said  to  write,  and  from  these  he  ought  to 
expect  his  reward;  his  works  being  often  a  very  proper  succedaneum 
to  cantharides,  or  an  asafoetida  pill.  His  pen  should  be  considered 
in  the  same  b'ght  as  the  squirt  of  an  apothecary,  both  being  directed 
at  the  same  generous  end. 

But  though  this  manner  of  writing  be  perfectly  adapted  to  the 
taste  of  gentlemen  and  ladies  of  fashion  here,  yet  still  it  deserves 
greater  praise  in  being  equally  suited  to  the  most  vulgar  apprehen- 
sions. The  very  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  Benin  or  Cafraria  are  in 
this  respect  tolerably  polite,  and  might  relish  a  prurient  joke  of  this 
kind  with  critical  propriety;  probably,  too,  with  higher  gust,  as 
they  wear  neither  breeches  nor  petticoats  to  intercept  the  applica- 
tion. 

It  is  certain  I  never  could  have  expected  the  ladies  here,  biassed 
as  they  are  by  education,  capable  at  once  of  bravely  throwing  off 
their  prejudices,  and  not  only  applauding  books  in  which  this  figure 
makes  the  only  merit,  but  even  adopting  it  in  their  own  conversation. 
Yet  so  it  is;  the  pretty  innocents  now  carry  those  books  openly  in 
their  hands,  which  formerly  were  hid  under  the  cushion ;  they  now 
lisp  their  double  meanings  with  so  much  grace,  and  talk  over  the 
raptures  they  bestow  with  such  little  reserve,  that  I  am  sometimes 
reminded  of  a  custom  among  the  entertainers  in  China,  who  think 

45° 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

it  a  piece  of  necessary  breeding  to  whet  the  appetites  of  their  guests, 
by  letting  them  smell  dinner  in  the  kitchen,  before  it  is  served  up  to 
table. 

The  veneration  we  have  for  many  things,  entirely  proceeds  from 
their  being  carefully  concealed.  Were  the  idolatrous  Tartar  per- 
mitted to  lift  the  veil  which  keeps  his  idol  from  view,  it  might  be  a 
certain  method  to  cure  his  future  superstition;  with  what  a  noble 
spirit  of  freedom,  therefore,  must  that  writer  be  possessed,  who 
bravely  paints  things  as  they  are  —  who  lifts  the  veil  of  modesty  — 
who  displays  the  most  hidden  recesses  of  the  temple,  and  shows  the 
erring  people  that  the  object  of  their  vows  is  either,  perhaps  a  mouse 
or  a  monkey ! 

However,  though  this  figure  be  at  present  so  much  hi  fashion  — 
though  the  professors  of  it  are  so  much  caressed  by  the  great,  those 
perfect  judges  of  literary  excellence,  —  yet  it  is  confessed  to  be  only 
a  revival  of  what  was  once  fashionable  here  before.  There  was  a 
time,  when,  by  this  very  manner  of  writing,  the  gentle  Tom  Durfey, 
as  I  read  in  English  authors,  acquired  his  great  reputation,  and  be- 
came the  favourite  of  a  king. 

The  works  of  this  original  genius,  though  they  never  travelled 
abroad  to  China,  and  scarce  have  reached  posterity  at  home,  were 
once  found  upon  every  fashionable  toilet,  and  made  the  subject  of 
polite,  I  mean  very  polite  conversation.  "Has  your  grace  seen 
Mr.  Durfey's  last  new  thing,  the  Oylet  Hole?  —  a  most  facetious 
piece !"  —  "  Sure,  my  lord,  all  the  world  must  have  seen  it;  Durfey 
is  certainly  the  most  comical  creature  alive.  It  is  impossible  to 
read  his  things  and  live.  Was  there  ever  anything  so  natural  and 
pretty,  as  when  the  'Squire  and  Bridget  meet  in  the  cellar?  And 
then  the  difficulties  they  both  find  hi  broaching  the  beer  barrel,  are 
so  arch  and  so  ingenious !  We  have  certainly  nothing  of  this  kind 
in  the  language."  In  this  manner  they  spoke  then,  and  in  this  man- 
ner they  speak  now;  for  though  the  successor  of  Durfey  does  not 
excel  him  in  wit,  the  world  must  confess  he  outdoes  him  in  obscenity. 

There  are  several  very  duU  fellows,  who,  by  a  few  mechanical 
helps,  sometimes  learn  to  become  extremely  brilliant  and  pleasing, 
with  a  little  dexterity  in  the  management  of  the  eyebrows,  fingers, 
and  nose.  By  imitating  a  cat,  a  sow  and  pigs,  —  by  a  loud  laugh, 
and  a  slap  on  the  shoulder,  —  the  most  ignorant  are  furnished  out 
for  conversation.  But  the  writer  finds  it  impossible  to  throw  his 
winks,  his  shrugs,  or  his  attitudes  upon  paper;  he  may  borrow 

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some  assistance,  indeed,  by  printing  his  face  at  the  title  page;  but, 
without  wit,  to  pass  for  a  man  of  ingenuity,  no  other  mechanical 
help  but  downright  obscenity  will  suffice.  By  speaking  of  some 
peculiar  sensations,  we  are  always  sure  of  exciting  laughter,  for  the 
jest  does  not  lie  in  the  writer,  but  in  the  subject. 

But  Bawdy  is  often  helped  on  by  another  figure,  called  Pertness; 
and  few  indeed  are  found  to  excel  in  one  that  are  not  possessed  of 
the  other.  As  in  common  conversation,  the  best  way  to  make  the 
audience  laugh  is  by  first  laughing  yourself;  so  in  writing,  the 
properest  manner  is  to  show  an  attempt  at  humour,  which  will  pass 
upon  most  for  humour  in  reality.  To  effect  this,  readers  must  be 
treated  with  the  most  perfect  familiarity:  in  one  page  the  author  is 
to  make  them  a  low  bow,  and  in  the  next  to  pull  them  by  the  nose ; 
he  must  talk  in  riddles,  and  then  send  them  to  bed  in  order  to  dream 
for  the  solution.  He  must  speak  of  himself,  and  his  chapters,  and 
his  manner,  and  what  he  would  be  at,  and  his  own  importance,  and 
his  mother's  importance,  with  the  most  unpitying  prolixity;  now 
and  then  testifying  his  contempt  for  all  but  himself,  smiling  without 
a  jest,  and  without  wit  professing  vivacity.  Adieu. 


LETTER  LIV 

To  the  Same 

THE    CHARACTER    OF    AN    IMPORTANT    TRIFLER,    [BEAU    TIBBSJ 

THOUGH  naturally  pensive,  yet  I  am  fond  of  gay  company, 
and  take  every  opportunity  of  thus  dismissing  the  mind  from 
duty.  From  this  motive,  I  am  often  found  in  the  centre  of  a  crowd ; 
and  wherever  pleasure  is  to  be  sold,  am  always  a  purchaser.  In 
those  places,  without  being  remarked  by  any,  I  join  in  whatever 
goes  forward;  work  my  passions  into  a  similitude  of  frivolous 
earnestness,  shout  as  they  shout,  and  condemn  as  they  happen  to 
disapprove.  A  mind  thus  sunk  for  a  while  below  its  natural  stand- 
ard, is  qualified  for  stronger  flights,  as  those  first  retire  who  would 
spring  forward  with  greater  vigour. 

Attracted  by  the  serenity  of  the  evening,  my  friend  and  I  lately 
went  to  gaze  upon  the  company  in  one  of  the  public  walks  near  the 
city.  Here  we  sauntered  together  for  some  time,  either  praising 
the  beauty  of  such  as  were  handsome,  or  the  dresses  of  such  as  had 

452 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

nothing  else  to  recommend  them.  We  had  gone  thus  deliberately 
forward  for  some  time,  when,  stopping  on  a  sudden,  my  friend  caught 
me  by  the  elbow,  and  led  me  out  of  the  public  walk.  I  could 
perceive  by  the  quickness  of  his  pace,  and  by  his  frequently  looking 
behind,  that  he  was  attempting  to  avoid  somebody  who  followed: 
we  now  turned  to  the  right,  then  to  the  left:  as  we  went  forward, 
he  still  went  faster,  but  in  vain :  the  person  whom  he  attempted  to 
escape  hunted  us  through  every  doubling,  and  gained  upon  us  each 
moment,  so  that  at  last  we  fairly  stood  still,  resolving  to  face  what 
we  could  not  avoid. 

Our  pursuer  soon  came  up,  and  joined  us  with  all  the  familiarity 
of  an  old  acquaintance.  "  My  dear  Drybone, "  cries  he,  shaking 
my  friend's  hand,  "  where  have  you  been  hiding  this  half  a  century? 
Positively  I  had  fancied  you  were  gone  down  to  cultivate  matrimony 
and  your  estate  in  the  country."  During  the  reply,  I  had  an  oppor- 
tunity of  surveying  the  appearance  of  our  new  companion:  his 
hat  was  pinched  up  with  peculiar  smartness;  his  looks  were  pale, 
thin,  and  sharp;  round  his  neck  he  wore  a  broad  black  riband,  and 
in  his  bosom  a  buckle  studded  with  glass;  his  coat  was  trimmed 
with  tarnished  twist;  he  wore  by  his  side  a  sword  with  a  black  hilt; 
and  his  stockings  of  silk,  though  newly  washed,  were  grown  yellow 
by  long  service.  I  was  so  much  engaged  with  the  peculiarity  of  his 
dress,  that  I  attended  only  to  the  latter  part  of  my  friend's  reply,  in 
which  he  complimented  Mr.  Tibbs  on  the  taste  of  his  clothes,  and 
the  bloom  of  his  countenance.  "Pshaw,  pshaw!  Will,"  cried  the 
figure,  "  no  more  of  that,  if  you  love  me:  you  know  I  hate  flattery,  — 
on  my  soul  I  do;  and  yet,  to  be  sure,  an  intimacy  with  the  great  will 
improve  one's  appearance,  and  a  course  of  venison  will  fatten ;  and 
yet,  faith,  I  despise  the  great  as  much  as  you  do;  but  there  are  a 
great  many  damn'd  honest  fellows  among  them,  and  we  must  not 
quarrel  with  one  half,  because  the  other  wants  weeding.  If  they 
were  all  such  as  my  Lord  Mudler,  one  of  the  most  good-natured 
creatures  that  ever  squeezed  a  lemon,  I  should  myself  be  among 
the  number  of  their  admirers.  I  was  yesterday  to  dine  at  the 
Duchess  of  Piccadilly's.  My  lord  was  there.  'Ned,'  says  he  to 
me,  'Ned,'  says  he,  'I'll  hold  gold  to  silver  I  can  tell  where  you  were 
poaching  last  night.'  'Poaching,  my  lord?'  says  I,  'faith  you 
have  missed  already;  for  I  staid  at  home,  and  let  the  girls  poach  for 
me.  That's  my  way:  I  take  a  fine  woman  as  some  animals  do  their 
prey  —  stand  still,  and  swoop,  they  fall  into  my  mouth.' " 

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CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

"Ah,  Tibbs,  thou  art  a  happy  fellow,"  cried  my  companion,  with 
looks  of  infinite  pity;  "I  hope  your  fortune  is  as  much  improved  as 
your  understanding  in  such  company."  —  "Improved,"  replied  the 
other;  "  You  shall  know,  —  but  let  it  go  no  further  —  a  great  secret 
—  five  hundred  a-year  to  begin  with.  —  My  lord's  word  of  honour 
for  it.  His  lordship  took  me  down  in  his  own  chariot  yesterday, 
and  we  had  a  tete-a-te'te  dinner  in  the  country,  where  we  talked  of 
nothing  else."  —  "I  fancy  you  forget,  Sir,"  cried  I,  "you  told  us 
but  this  moment  of  your  dining  yesterday  in  town."  —  "Did  I 
say  so?"  replied  he  cooly;  "to  be  sure  if  I  said  so,  it  was  so  — 
Dined  in  town;  egad,  now  I  do  remember,  I  did  dine  in  town;  but 
I  dined  in  the  country  too;  for  you  must  know,  my  boys,  I  eat  two 
dinners.  By  the  by,  I  am  grown  as  nice  as  the  devil  in  my  eating. 
I'll  tell  you  a  pleasant  affair  about  that:  —  We  were  a  select  party 
of  us  to  dine  at  Lady  Grogram's  —  an  affected  piece,  but  let  it  go 
no  farther  — a  secret  —  Well,  there  happened  to  be  no  asafcetida 
in  the  sauce  to  a  turkey,  upon  which,  says  I,  "  I'll  hold  a  thousand 
guineas,  and  say  done  first,  that  —  But,  dear  Drybone,  you  are  an 
honest  creature;  lend  me  half-a-crown  for  a  minute  or  two,  or  so, 

just  till but  hearkee,  ask  me  for  it  the  next  time  we  meet,  or 

it  may  be  twenty  to  one  but  I  forget  to  pay  you." 

When  he  left  us,  our  conversation  naturally  turned  upon  so 
extraordinary  a  character.  "  His  very  dress,"  cries  my  friend,  ' '  is 
not  less  extraordinary  than  his  conduct.  If  you  meet  him  this  day, 
you  find  him  in  rags ;  if  the  next,  in  embroidery.  With  those  persons 
of  distinction  of  whom  he  talks  so  familiarly,  he  has  scarce  a  coffee- 
house acquaintance.  However,  both  for  the  interests  of  society,  and 
perhaps  for  his  own,  Heaven  has  made  him  poor,  and  while  all  the 
world  perceive  his  wants,  he  fancies  them  concealed  from  every 
eye.  An  agreeable  companion,  because  he  understands  flattery; 
and  all  must  be  pleased  with  the  first  part  of  his  conversation, 
though  all  are  sure  of  its  ending  with  a  demand  on  their  purse. 
While  his  youth  countenances  the  levity  of  his  conduct,  he  may 
thus  earn  a  precarious  subsistence;  but  when  age  comes  on,  the 
gravity  of  which  is  incompatible  with  buffoonery,  then  will  he  find 
himself  forsaken  by  all;  condemned  in  the  decline  of  life  to  hang 
upon  some  rich  family  whom  he  once  despised,  there  to  undergo 
all  the  ingenuity  of  studied  contempt,  to  be  employed  only  as  a  spy 
upon  the  servants,  or  a  bugbear  to  fright  the  children  into  obedi- 
ence." Adieu. 

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CITIZEN   OF   THE   WORLD 

LETTER  LV 
To  the  Same 

THE  CHARACTER  OF  THE  TRIFLER  CONTINUED:     WITH  THAT  OF  HIS 
WIFE,  HIS  HOUSE,  AND  FURNITURE 

I  AM  apt  to  fancy  I  have  contracted  a  new  acquaintance  whom 
it  will  be  no  easy  matter  to  shake  off.  My  little  Beau  yester- 
day overtook  me  again  in  one  of  the  public  walks,  and  slapping  me 
on  the  shoulder,  saluted  me  with  an  air  of  the  most  perfect  familiar- 
ity. His  dress  was  the  same  as  usual,  except  that  he  had  more 
powder  in  his  hair,  wore  a  dirtier  shirt,  a  pair  of  temple  spectacles, 
and  his  hat  under  his  arm. 

As  I  knew  him  to  be  a  harmless,  amusing  little  thing,  I  could  not 
return  his  smiles  with  any  degree  of  severity:  so  we  walked  forward 
on  terms  of  the  utmost  intimacy,  and  in  a  few  minutes  discussed 
all  the  usual  topics  preliminary  to  particular  conversation.  The 
oddities  that  marked  his  character,  however,  soon  began  to  appear ; 
he  bowed  to  several  well-dressed  persons,  who,  by  their  manner  of 
returning  the  compliment,  appeared  perfect  strangers.  At  intervals 
he  drew  out  a  pocket-book,  seeming  to  take  memorandums  before 
all  the  company,  with  much  importance  and  assiduity.  In  this 
manner  he  led  me  through  the  length  of  the  whole  walk,  fretting  at 
his  absurdities,  and  fancying  myself  laughed  at  not  less  than  him 
by  every  spectator. 

When  we  were  got  to  the  end  of  our  procession,  "Blast  me," 
cries  he,  with  an  ah*  of  vivacity,  "  I  never  saw  the  Park  so  thin  in  my 
life  before!  There's  no  company  at  all  to-day;  not  a  single  face  to 
be  seen."  —  "No  company!"  interrupted  I,  peevishly;  "no  com- 
pany where  there  is  such  a  crowd?  why,  man,  there's  too  much. 
What  are  the  thousands  that  have  been  laughing  at  us  but  com- 
pany?" "Lord,  my  dear,"  returned  he,  with  the  utmost  good 
humour,  "you  seem  immensely  chagrined;  but,  blast  me,  when 
the  world  laughs  at  me,  I  laugh  at  the  world,  and  so  we  are  even. 
My  Lord  Trip,  Bill  Squash  the  Creolian,  and  I,  sometimes  make  a 
party  at  being  ridiculous;  and  so  we  say  and  do  a  thousand  things 
for  the  joke's  sake.  But  I  see  you  are  grave,  and  if  you  are  for  a 
fine  grave  sentimental  companion,  you  shall  dine  with  me  and  my 
wife  to-day;  I  must  insist  on't.  I'll  introduce  you  to  Mrs.  Tibbs,  a 

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lady  of  as  elegant  qualifications  as  any  in  nature;  she  was  bred  (but 
that's  between  ourselves),  under  the  inspection  of  the  Countess  of 
All-night.  A  charming  body  of  voice;  but  no  more  of  that,  —  she 
will  give  us  a  song.  You  shall  see  my  little  girl  too,  Carolina  Wil- 
helmina  Amelia  Tibbs,  a  sweet  pretty  creature:  I  design  her  for  my 
Lord  Drumstick's  eldest  son;  but  that's  in  friendship,  let  it  go  no 
further:  she's  but  six  years  old,  and  yet  she  walks  a  minuet,  and 
plays  on  the  guitar  immensely  already.  I  intend  she  shall  be  as 
perfect  as  possible  in  every  accomplishment.  In  the  first  place,  I'll 
make  her  a  scholar:  I'll  teach  her  Greek  myself,  and  learn  that 
language  purposely  to  instruct  her;  but  let  that  be  a  secret." 

Thus  saying,  without  waiting  for  a  reply,  he  took  me  by  the  arm, 
and  hauled  me  along.  We  passed  through  many  dark  alleys  and 
winding  ways;  for,  from  some  motives  to  me  unknown,  he  seemed 
to  have  a  particular  aversion  to  every  frequented  street;  at  last, 
however,  we  got  to  the  door  of  a  dismal-looking  house  in  the  outlets 
of  the  town,  where  he  informed  me  he  chose  to  reside  for  the  benefit 
of  the  air. 

We  entered  the  lower  door,  which  ever  seemed  to  lie  most  hospi- 
tably open ;  and  I  began  to  ascend  an  old  and  creaking  staircase, 
when,  as  he  mounted  to  show  me  the  way,  he  demanded,  whether 
I  delighted  in  prospects;  to  which  answering  in  the  affirmative, 
"  Then,"  says  he,  "  I  shall  show  you  one  of  the  most  charming  in  the 
world,  out  of  my  window;  we  shall  see  the  ships  sailing,  and  the 
whole  country  for  twenty  miles  round,  tip  top,  quite  high.  My 
Lord  Swamp  would  give  ten  thousand  guineas  for  such  a  one;  but, 
as  I  sometimes  pleasantly  tell  him,  I  always  love  to  keep  my  pros- 
pects at  home,  that  my  friends  may  see  me  the  oftener." 

By  this  time  we  were  arrived  as  high  as  the  stairs  would  permit 
us  to  ascend,  till  we  came  to  what  he  was  facetiously  pleased  to  call 
the  first  floor  down  the  chimney;  and  knocking  at  the  door,  a  voice 
from  within  demanded,  "Who's  there?"  My  conductor  answered 
that  it  was  him.  But  this  not  satisfying  the  querist,  the  voice  again 
repeated  the  demand;  to  which  he  answered  louder  than  before; 
and  now  the  door  was  opened  by  an  old  woman  with  cautious  re- 
luctance. 

When  we  were  got  in,  he  welcomed  me  to  his  house  with  great 
ceremony,  and  turning  to  the  old  woman,  asked  where  was  her 
lady?  "Good  troth,"  replied  she,  in  a  peculiar  dialect,  "she's 
washing  your  twa  shirts  at  the  next  door,  because  they  have  taken 

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an  oath  against  lending  out  the  tub  any  longer."  — "  My  two 
shirts!"  cried  he  in  a  tone  that  faltered  with  confusion,  "what  does 
the  idiot  mean?"  — "I  ken  what  I  mean  weel  enough,"  replied 
the  other ;  "  she's  washing  your  twa  shirts  at  the  next  door,  because 

"       "Fire  and  fury,  no  more  of  thy  stupid  explanations!" 

cried  he;  "go  and  inform  her  we  have  got  company.  Were  that 
Scotch  hag,"  continued  he,  turning  to  me,  "to  be  for  ever  in  my 
family,  she  would  never  learn  politeness,  nor  forget  that  absurd 
poisonous  accent  of  hers,  or  testify  the  smallest  specimen  of  breeding 
of  high  life;  and  yet  it  is  very  surprising  too,  as  I  had  her  from  a 
Parliament  man,  a  friend  of  mine  from  the  Highlands,  one  of  the 
politest  men  in  the  world ;  but  that's  a  secret." 

We  waited  some  time  for  Mrs.  Tibbs's  arrival,  during  which 
interval  I  had  a  full  opportunity  of  surveying  the  chamber  and  all 
its  furniture,  which  consisted  of  four  chairs  with  old  wrought 
bottoms,  that  he  assured  me  were  his  wife's  embroidery;  a  square 
table  that  had  once  been  japanned;  a  cradle  hi  one  corner,  a  lumber- 
ing cabinet  in  the  other;  a  broken  shepherdess,  and  a  mandarine 
without  a  head,  were  stuck  over  the  chimney;  and  round  the  walls 
several  paltry  unframed  pictures,  which,  he  observed,  were  all  his 
own  drawing.  "  What  do  you  think,  Sir,  of  that  head  in  the  corner, 
done  in  the  manner  of  Grisoni?  there's  the  true  keeping  in  it;  it 
is  my  own  face,  and  though  there  happens  to  be  no  likeness,  a 
Countess  offered  me  a  hundred  for  its  fellow:  I  refused  her,  for, 
hang  it,  that  would  be  mechanical  you  know." 

The  wife  at  last  made  her  appearance,  at  once  a  slattern  and  a 
coquette ;  much  emaciated,  but  still  carrying  the  remains  of  beauty. 
She  made  twenty  apologies  for  being  seen  hi  such  odious  dishabille, 
but  hoped  to  be  excused,  as  she  had  stayed  out  all  night  at  the 
gardens  with  the  Countess,  who  was  excessively  fond  of  the  horns. 
"And,  indeed,  my  dear,"  added  she,  turning  to  her  husband,  "his 
lordship  drank  your  health  in  a  bumper." -— "Poor  Jack!"  cries 
he,  "a  dear  good-natured  creature,  I  know  he  loves  me.  But  I 
hope,  my  dear,  you  have  given  orders  for  dinner;  you  need  make 
no  great  preparations  neither,  there  are  but  three  of  us;  something 

elegant,  and  little  will  do,  —  a  turbot,  an  ortolan,  a '      "Or 

what  do  you  think,  my  dear,"  interrupts  the  wife,  "  of  a  nice  pretty 
bit  of  ox-cheek,  piping  hot,  and  dressed  with  a  little  of  my  own 
sauce?"  —  "The  very  thing!"  replies  he;  "it  will  eat  best  with 
some  smart  bottled  beer:  but  be  sure  to  let  us  have  the  sauce  his 

457 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

Grace  was  so  fond  of.  I  hate  your  immense  loads  of  meat ;  that  is 
country  all  over;  extremely  disgusting  to  those  who  are  in  the  least 
acquainted  with  high  life." 

By  this  time  my  curiosity  began  to  abate,  and  my  appetite  to 
increase;  the  company  of  fools  may  at  first  make  us  smile,  but  at 
last  never  fails  of  rendering  us  melancholy:  I  therefore  pretended 
to  recollect  a  prior  engagement,  and,  after  having  shown  my  respect 
to  the  house,  according  to  the  fashion  of  the  English,  by  giving  the 
old  servant  a  piece  of  money  at  the  door,  I  took  my  leave;  Mr. 
Tibbs  assuring  me,  that  dinner,  if  I  stayed,  would  be  ready  at  least 
in  less  than  two  hours. 


LETTER  LVIH 

To  the  Same 

A  VISITATION  DINNER  DESCRIBED 

AS  the  man  in  black  takes  every  opportunity  of  introducing 
me  to  such  company  as  may  serve  to  indulge  my  speculative 
temper,  or  gratify  my  curiosity,  I  was,  by  his  influence,  lately  in- 
vited to  a  "visitation  dinner.  To  understand  this  term,  you  must 
know,  that  it  was  formerly  the  custom  here  for  the  principal  priests 
to  go  about  the  country  once  a-year,  and  examine  upon  the  spot, 
whether  those  of  subordinate  orders  did  their  duty,  or  were  quali- 
fied for  the  task;  whether  their  temples  were  kept  in  proper  repair 
or  the  laity  pleased  with  their  administration. 

Though  a  visitation  of  this  nature  was  very  useful,  yet  it  was 
found  to  be  extremely  troublesome,  and  for  many  reasons  utterly 
inconvenient;  for,  as  the  principal  priests  were  obliged  to  attend 
at  court,  in  order  to  solicit  preferment,  it  was  impossible  they  could 
at  the  same  time  attend  in  the  country,  which  was  quite  out  of  the 
road  to  promotion :  if  we  add  to  this  the  gout,  which  has  been  time 
immemorial  a  clerical  disorder  here,  together  with  the  bad  wine, 
and  ill-dressed  provisions  that  must  infallibly  be  served  up  by  the 
way,  it  was  not  strange  that  the  custom  has  been  long  discontinued. 
At  present,  therefore,  every  head  of  the  church,  instead  of  going 
about  to  visit  his  priests,  is  satisfied  if  his  priests  come  in  a  body 
once  a-year  to  visit  him;  by  this  means  the  duty  of  half  a-year  is 
despatched  in  a  day.  When  assembled,  he  asks  each  in  turn  how 

458 


CITIZEN   OF   THE   WORLD 

they  have  behaved,  and  are  liked;  upon  which,  those  who  have 
neglected  their  duty,  or  are  disagreeable  to  their  congregation,  no 
doubt  accuse  themselves,  and  tell  him  all  their  faults,  for  which  he 
reprimands  them  most  severely. 

The  thoughts  of  being  introduced  into  a  company  of  philosophers 
and  learned  men,  (for  such  I  conceived  them)  gave  me  no  small 
pleasure.  I  expected  our  entertainment  would  resemble  those  senti- 
mental banquets,  so  finely  described  by  Xenophon  and  Plato:  I  was 
hoping  some  Socrates  would  be  brought  in  from  the  door,  in  order 
to  harangue  upon  divine  love:  but  as  for  eating  and  drinking,  I  had 
prepared  myself  to  be  disappointed  in  that  particular.  I  was 
apprised  that  fasting  and  temperance  were  tenets  strongly  recom- 
mended to  the  professors  of  Christianity,  and  I  had  seen  the  frugality 
and  mortification  of  the  priests  of  the  East;  so  that  I  expected  an  en- 
tertainment where  we  should  have  much  reasoning  and  little  meat. 

Upon  being  introduced,  I  confess  I  found  no  great  signs  of  morti- 
fication in  the  faces  or  persons  of  the  company.  However,  I  imputed 
their  florid  looks  to  temperance,  and  their  corpulency  to  a  sedentary 
way  of  living.  I  saw  several  preparations,  indeed,  for  dinner,  but 
none  for  philosophy.  The  company  seemed  to  gaze  upon  the  table 
with  silent  expectation;  but  this  I  easily  excused.  Men  of  wisdom, 
thought  I,  are  ever  slow  of  speech;  they  deliver  nothing  unadvisedly. 
"Silence,"  says  Confucius,  "is  a  friend  that  will  never  betray." 
They  are  now  probably  inventing  maxims  or  hard  sayings  for  their 
mutual  instruction,  when  some  one  shall  think  proper  to  begin. 

My  curiosity  was  now  wrought  up  to  the  highest  pitch;  I  impa- 
tiently looked  round  to  see  if  any  were  going  to  interrupt  the  mighty 
pause ;  when  at  last  one  of  the  company  declared,  that  there  was  a 
sow  in  his  neighbourhood  that  farrowed  fifteen  pigs  at  a  litter.  This 
I  thought  a  very  preposterous  beginning;  but  just  as  another  was 
going  to  second  the  remark,  dinner  was  served,  which  interrupted 
the  conversation  for  that  time. 

The  appearance  of  dinner,  which  consisted  of  a  variety  of  dishes, 
seemed  to  diffuse  new  cheerfulness  upon  every  face;  so  that  I  now 
expected  the  philosophical  conversation  to  begin,  as  they  improved 
in  good  humour.  The  principal  priest,  however,  opened  his  mouth 
with  only  observing,  that  the  venison  had  not  been  kept  enough, 
though  he  had  given  strict  orders  for  having  it  killed  ten  days  before. 
"I  fear,"  continued  he,  "it  will  be  found  to  want  the  true  healthy 
flavour;  you  will  find  nothing  of,  the  original  wildness  in  it."  A 

459 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

priest,  who  sat  next  him,  having  smelt  it,  and  wiped  his  nose,  "Ah, 
my  good  lord,"  cries  he,  "you  are  too  modest,  it  is  perfectly  fine; 
everybody  knows  that  nobody  understands  keeping  venison  with 
your  lordship."  —  "Ay,  and  partridges  too,"  interrupted  another; 
"I  never  find  them  right  any  where  else."  His  lordship  was  going 
to  reply,  when  a  third  took  off  the  attention  of  the  company,  by 
recommending  the  pig  as  inimitable.  "  I  fancy,  my  lord,"  continues 
he,  "it  has  been  smothered  in  its  own  blood."  —  "If  it  has  been 
smothered  in  its  blood,"  cried  a  facetious  member,  helping  himself, 
"we'll  now  smother  it  in  egg  sauce."  This  poignant  piece  of 
humour  produced  a  long  luod  laugh,  which  the  facetious  brother 
observing,  and  now  that  he  was  in  luck,  willing  to  second  his  blow, 
assured  the  company  he  would  tell  them  a  good  story  about  that: 
"As  good  a  story,"  cries  he,  bursting  into  a  violent  fit  of  laughter 
himself,  "  as  you  ever  heard  in  your  lives.  There  was  a  farmer  in 
my  parish  who  used  to  sup  upon  wild  ducks  and  flummery;  so  this 
farmer "  "Doctor  Marrowfat,"  cried  his  lordship,  interrupt- 
ing him;  "give  me  leave  to  drink  your  health;"  "so  —  being  fond 

of  wild  ducks  and  flummery, "  "Doctor,"  adds  a  gentleman 

who  sat  next  him,  "let  me  advise  you  to  a  wing  of  this  turkey;"  — 

"so  this  farmer  being  fond "  "Hob  [and]  nob,  Doctor,  which 

do  you  choose,  white  or  red?"  —  "so,  being  fond  of  wild  ducks  and 

flummery; "  "Take  care  of  your  band,  Sir,  it  may  dip  in  the 

gravy."  The  Doctor,  now  looking  round,  found  not  a  single  eye 
disposed  to  listen;  wherefore,  calling  for  a  glass  of  wine,  he  gulped 
down  the  disappointment  and  the  tale  in  a  bumper. 

The  conversation  now  began  to  be  a  little  more  than  a  rhapsody 
of  exclamations:  as  each  had  pretty  well  satisfied  his  own  appetite, 
he  now  found  sufficient  time  to  press  others.  "  Excellent !  the  very 
thing!  let  me  recommend  the  pig."  "Do  but  taste  the  bacon! 
never  ate  a  better  thing  in  my  life:  exquisite!  delicious!"  This 
edifying  discourse  continued  through  three  courses,  which  lasted 
as  many  hours,  till  every  one  of  the  company  was  unable  to  swallow 
or  utter  any  thing  more. 

It  is  very  natural  for  men,  who  are  abridged  hi  one  excess,  to 
break  into  some  other.  The  clergy  here,  particularly  those  who 
are  advanced  in  years,  think  if  they  are  abstemious  with  regard  to 
women  and  wine,  they  may  indulge  their  other  appetites  without 
censure.  Thus  some  are  found  to  rise  in  the  morning  only  to  a 
consultation  with  their  cook  about  dinner,  and,  when  that  has  been 

460 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

swallowed,  make  no  other  use  of  their  faculties  (if  they  have  any) 
but  to  ruminate  on  the  succeeding  meal. 

A  debauch  in  wine  is  even  more  pardonable  than  this,  since  one 
glass  insensibly  leads  on  to  another,  and,  instead  of  sating,  whets 
the  appetite.  The  progressive  steps  to  it  are  cheerful  and  seducing; 
the  grave  are  animated,  the  melancholy  relieved,  and  ther  is  even 
classic  authority  to  countenance  the  excess.  But  in  eating,  after 
nature  is  once  satisfied,  every  additional  morsel  brings  stupidity 
and  distempers  with  it,  and,  as  one  of  their  own  poets  expresses  it, — 

"  The  soul  subsides,  and  wickedly  inclines 
To  seem  but  mortal,  even  in  sound  divines. " 

Let  me  suppose,  after  such  a  meal  as  this  I  have  been  describing, 
while  all  the  company  are  sitting  in  lethargic  silence  round  the  table, 
grunting  under  a  load  of  soup,  pig,  pork,  and  bacon ;  let  me  suppose, 
I  say,  some  hungry  beggar,  with  looks  of  want,  peeping  through 
one  of  the  windows,  and  thus  addressing  the  assembly:  "Prithee, 
pluck  those  napkins  from  your  chins;  after  nature  is  satisfied,  all 
that  you  eat  extraordinary  is  my  property,  and  I  claim  it  as  mine. 
It  was  given  you  in  order  to  relieve  me,  and  not  to  oppress  yourselves. 
How  can  they  comfort  or  instruct  others,  who  can  scarce  feel  their 
own  existence,  except  from  the  unsavoury  returns  of  an  ill-digested 
meal  ?  But  though  neither  you  nor  the  cushions  you  sit  upon  will 
hear  me,  yet  the  world  regards  the  excesses  of  its  teachers  with  a 
prying  eye,  and  notes  their  conduct  with  double  severity."  I 
know  no  other  answer  any  one  of  the  company  could  make  to  such 
an  expostulation  but  this: "  Friend,  you  talk  of  our  losing  a  character, 
and  being  disliked  by  the  world;  well,  and  supposing  all  this  to  be 
true,  what  then !  who  cares  for  the  world  ?  We'll  preach  for  the 
world,  and  the  world  shall  pay  us  for  preaching,  whether  we  like 
each  other  or  not." 


461 


CITIZEN   OF   THE   WORLD 

LETTER  LXIV 

To  the  Same 

THE    GREAT   EXCHANGE   HAPPINESS    FOR    SHOW.      THEIR    FOLLY   IN 
THIS  RESPECT  OF  USE  TO  SOCIETY 

THE  princes  of  Europe  have  found  out  a  manner  of  rewarding 
their  subjects  who  have  behaved  well,  by  presenting  them 
with  about  two  yards  of  blue  ribbon,  which  is  worn  about  the 
shoulder.  They  who  are  honoured  with  this  mark  of  distinction 
are  called  knights,  and  the  king  himself  is  always  the  head  of  the 
order.  This  is  a  very  frugal  method  of  recompensing  the  most 
important  services;  and  it  is  very  fortunate  for  kings  that  their 
subjects  are  satisfied  with  such  trifling  rewards.  Should  a  nobleman 
happen  to  lose  his  leg  in  battle,  the  king  presents  him  with  two  yards 
of  ribbon,  and  he  is  paid  for  the  loss  of  his  limb.  Should  an 
ambassador  spend  all  his  paternal  fortune  in  supporting  the  honour 
of  his  country  abroad,  the  king  presents  him  with  two  yards  of 
ribbon,  which  is  to  be  considered  as  an  equivalent  to  his  estate. 
In  short,  while  an  European  king  has  a  yard  of  blue  or  green 
riband  left,  he  need  be  under  no  apprehensions  of  wanting  states- 
men, generals,  and  soldiers. 

I  cannot  sufficiently  admire  those  kingdoms  in  which  men  with 
large  patrimonial  estates  are  willing  thus  to  undergo  real  hardships 
for  empty  favours.  A  person,  already  possessed  of  a  competent 
fortune,  who  undertakes  to  enter  the  career  of  ambition,  feels  many 
real  inconveniences  from  his  station,  while  it  procures  him  no  real 
happiness  that  he  was  not  possessed  of  before.  He  could  eat, 
drink,  and  sleep,  before  he  became  a  courtier,  as  well,  perhaps 
better,  than  when  invested  with  his  authority.  He  could  command 
flatterers  in  a  private  station,  as  well  as  in  his  public  capacity,  and 
indulge  at  home  eveiy  favourite  inclination,  uncensured  and  unseen 
by  the  people. 

What  real  good,  then,  does  an  addition  to  a  fortune  already 
sufficient  procure?  Not  any.  Could  the  great  man,  by  having 
his  fortune  increased,  increase  also  his  appetites,  then  precedence 
might  be  attended  with  real  amusement. 

Was  he,  by  having  his  one  thousand  made  two,  thus  enabled  to 
enjoy  two  wives,  or  eat  two  dinners,  then,  indeed,  he  might  be 

462 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

excused  for  undergoing  some  pain,  in  order  to  extend  the  sphere 
of  his  enjoyments.  But,  on  the  contrary,  he  finds  his  desire  for 
pleasure  often  lessen,  as  he  takes  pains  to  be  able  to  improve  it;  and 
his  capacity  of  enjoyment  diminishes  as  his  fortune  happens  to 
increase. 

Instead,  therefore,  of  regarding  the  great  with  envy,  I  generally 
consider  them  with  some  share  of  compassion.  I  look  upon  them 
as  a  set  of  good-natured,  misguided  people,  who  are  indebted  to  us, 
and  not  to  themselves,  for  all  the  happiness  they  enjoy.  For  our 
pleasure,  and  not  their  own,  they  sweat  under  a  cumbrous  heap  of 
finery;  for  our  pleasure,  the  lackeyed  train,  the  slow  parading 
pageant,  with  all  the  gravity  of  grandeur,  moves  in  review :  a  single 
coat,  or  a  single  footman,  answers  all  the  purposes  of  the  most 
indolent  refinement  as  well;  and  these  who  have  twenty,  may  be 
said  to  keep  one  for  their  own  pleasure,  and  the  other  nineteen 
merely  for  ours.  So  true  is  the  observation  of  Confucius,  "That 
we  take  greater  pains  to  persuade  others  that  we  are  happy,  than 
in  endeavouring  to  think  so  ourselves." 

But  though  this  desire  of  being  seen,  of  being  made  the  subject 
of  discourse,  and  of  supporting  the  dignities  of  an  exalted  station, 
be  troublesome  enough  to  the  ambitious,  yet  it  is  well  for  society 
that  there  are  men  thus  willing  to  exchange  ease  and  safety  for 
danger  and  a  ribbon.  We  lose  nothing  by  their  vanity,  and  it 
would  be  unkind  to  endeavour  to  deprive  a  child  of  its  rattle.  If  a 
duke  or  a  duchess  are  willing  to  carry  a  long  train  for  our  entertain- 
ment, so  much  the  worse  for  themselves;  if  they  choose  to  exhibit 
in  public,  with  a  hundred  lackeys  and  mamelukes  in  their  equipage, 
for  our  entertainment,  still  so  much  the  worse  for  themselves;  it  is 
the  spectators  alone  who  give  and  receive  the  pleasure;  they  only 
[are]  the  sweating  figures  that  swell  the  pageant. 

A  mandarine,  who  took  much  pride  in  appearing  with  a  number 
of  jewels  on  every  part  of  his  robe,  was  once  accosted  by  an  old  sly 
bonze,  who,  following  him  through  several  streets,  and  bowing 
often  to  the  ground,  thanked  him  for  his  jewels.  "What  does  the 
man  mean?"  cried  the  mandarine:  "Friend,  I  never  gave  thee  any 
of  my  jewels."  —  "No,"  replied  the  other;  "but  you  have  let  me 
look  at  them,  and  that  is  all  the  use  you  can  make  of  them  yourself; 
so  there  is  no  difference  between  us,  except  that  you  have  the  trouble 
of  watching  them,  and  that  is  an  employment  I  don't  much  desire." 
Adieu. 

463 


CITIZEN    OF    THE   WORLD 

LETTER  LXV 

To  the  Same 

THE  HISTORY  OF  A  PHILOSOPHIC  COBBLER 

THOUGH  not  very  fond  of  seeing  a  pageant  myself,  yet  I  am 
generally  pleased  with  being  in  the  crowd  which  sees  it:  it  is 
amusing  to  observe  the  effect  which  such  a  spectacle  has  upon  the 
variety  of  faces;  the  pleasure  it  excites  in  some,  the  envy  in  others, 
and  the  wishes  it  raises  in  all.  With  this  design  I  lately  went  to 
see  the  entry  of  a  foreign  ambassador,  resolved  to  make  one  in  the 
mob,  to  shout  as  they  shouted,  to  fix  with  earnestness  upon  the  same 
frivolous  objects,  and  participate  for  a  while  the  pleasures  and  the 
wishes  of  the  vulgar. 

Struggling  here  for  some  time,  in  order  to  be  first  to  see  the  caval- 
cade as  it  passed,  some  one  of  the  crowd  unluckily  happened  to 
tread  upon  my  shoe,  and  tore  it  in  such  a  manner,  that  I  was  utterly 
unqualified  to  march  forward  with  the  main  body,  and  obliged  to 
fall  back  in  the  rear.  Thus  rendered  incapable  of  being  a  spectator 
of  the  show  myself,  I  was  at  least  willing  to  observe  the  spectators, 
and  limped  behind  like  one  of  the  invalids  which  follow  the  march 
of  an  army. 

In  this  plight,  as  I  was  considering  the  eagerness  that  appeared 
on  every  face,  how  some  bustled  to  get  foremost,  and  others  con- 
tented themselves  with  taking  a  transient  peep  when  they  could; 
how  some  praised  the  four  black  servants  that  were  stuck  behind 
one  of  the  equipages,  and  some  the  ribbons  that  decorated  the 
horses'  necks  in  another,  my  attention  was  called  off  to  an  object 
more  extraordinary  than  any  I  had  yet  seen :  a  poor  cobbler  sat  in 
his  stall  by  the  way-side,  and  continued  to  work,  while  the  crowd 
passed  by,  without  testifying  the  smallest  share  of  curiosity.  I  own 
his  want  of  attention  excited  mine;  and  as  I  stood  hi  need  of  his 
assistance,  I  thought  it  best  to  employ  a  philosophic  cobbler  on  this 
occasion.  Perceiving  my  business,  therefore,  he  desired  me  to 
enter  and  sit  down,  took  my  shoe  in  his  lap,  and  began  to  mend  it 
with  his  usual  indifference  and  taciturnity. 

"How,  my  friend,"  said  I  to  him,  "can  you  continue  to  work, 
while  all  those  fine  things  are  passing  by  your  door?"  "Very  fine 
they  are,  master,"  returned  the  cobbler,  "  for  those  that  like  them 

464 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

to  be  sure;  but  what  are  all  those  fine  things  to  me?  You  don't 
know  what  it  is  to  be  a  cobbler,  and  so  much  the  better  for  yourself. 
Your  bread  is  baked :  you  may  go  and  see  sights  the  whole  day,  and 
eat  a  warm  supper  when  you  come  home  at  night;  but  for  me,  if 
I  should  run  hunting  after  all  these  fine  folk,  what  should  I  get  by 
my  journey  but  an  appetite,  and,  God  help  me!  I  have  too  much  of 
that  at  home  already,  without  stirring  out  for  it.  Your  people  who 
may  eat  four  meals  a-day,  and  a  supper  at  night,  are  but  a  bad  ex- 
ample to  such  a  one  as  I.  No,  master,  as  God  has  called  me  into 
this  world  in  order  to  mend  old  shoes,  I  have  no  business  with  fine 
folk,  and  they  no  business  with  me."  I  here  interrupted  him  with  a 
smile.  "See  this  last,  master,"  continues  he,  "and  this  hammer; 
this  last  and  hammer  are  the  two  best  friends  I  have  in  this  world ; 
nobody  else  will  be  my  friend,  because  I  want  a  friend.  The  great 
folks  you  saw  pass  by  just  now  have  five  hundred  friends,  because 
they  have  no  occasion  for  them:  now,  while  I  stick  to  my  good 
friends  here,  I  am  very  contented ;  but  when  I  ever  so  little  run  after 
sights  and  fine  things,  I  begin  to  hate  my  work;  I  grow  sad,  and 
have  no  heart  to  mend  shoes  any  longer." 

This  discourse  only  served  to  raise  my  curiosity  to  know  more  of 
a  man  whom  nature  had  thus  formed  into  a  philosopher.  I  there- 
fore insensibly  led  him  into  a  history  of  his  adventures:  "I  have 
lived,"  said  he,  "a  wandering  sort  of  a  life  now  five-and-fifty  years, 
here  to-day,  and  gone  to-morrow;  for  it  was  my  misfortune,  when 
I  was  young,  to  be  fond  of  changing."  —  "You  have  been  a  trav- 
eller, then,  I  presume,"  interrupted  I.  "I  cannot  boast  much  of 
travelling,"  continued  he,  "for  I  have  never  left  the  parish  in  which 
I  was  born  but  three  times  in  my  life,  that  I  can  remember;  but 
then  there  is  not  a  street  in  the  whole  neighbourhood  that  I  have  not 
lived  in,  at  some  time  or  another.  When  I  began  to  settle  and  to 
take  to  my  business  in  one  street,  some  unforeseen  misfortune,  or 
a  desire  of  trying  my  luck  elsewhere,  has  removed  me,  perhaps  a 
whole  mile  away  from  my  former  customers,  while  some  more 
lucky  cobbler  would  come  into  my  place,  and  make  a  handsome 
fortune  among  friends  of  my  making:  there  was  one  who  actually 
died  in  a  stall  that  I  had  left,  worth  seven  pounds  seven  shillings,  all 
in  hard  gold,  which  he  had  quilted  into  the  waistband  of  his 
breeches." 

I  could  not  but  smile  at  these  migrations  of  a  man  by  the  fireside, 
and  continued  to  ask  if  he  had  ever  been  married.  "Ay,  that  I 

465 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

have,  master,"  replied  he,  "for  sixteen  long  years;  and  a  weary 
life  I  had  of  it,  Heaven  knows.  My  wife  took  it  into  her  head,  that 
the  only  way  to  thrive  in  this  world  was  to  save  money;  so,  though 
our  comings-in  were  but  about  three  shillings  a-week,  all  that  ever 
she  could  lay  her  hands  upon  she  used  to  hide  away  from  me,  though 
we  were  obliged  to  starve  the  whole  week  after  for  it. 

"  The  first  three  years  we  used  to  quarrel  about  this  every  day,  and 
I  always  got  the  better;  but  she  had  a  hard  spirit,  and  still  continued 
to  hide  as  usual :  so  that  I  was  at  last  tired  of  quarrelling  and  getting 
the  better,  and  she  scraped  and  scraped  at  pleasure,  till  I  was  almost 
starved  to  death.  Her  conduct  drove  me  at  last  in  despair  to  the 
alehouse;  here  I  used  to  sit  with  people  who  hated  home  like  my- 
self, drank  while  I  had  money  left,  and  ran  in  score  when  any  body 
would  trust  me;  till  at  last  the  landlady  coming  one  day  with  a  long 
bill  when  I  was  from  home,  and  putting  it  into  my  wife's  hands,  the 
length  of  it  effectually  broke  her  heart.  I  searched  the  whole  stall, 
after  she  was  dead,  for  money,  but  she  had  hidden  it  so  effectually, 
that,  with  all  my  pains,  I  could  never  find  a  farthing." 

By  this  time  my  shoe  was  mended,  and  satisfying  the  poor  artist 
for  his  trouble,  and  rewarding  him  besides  for  his  information,  I 
took  my  leave,  and  returned  home  to  lengthen  out  the  amusement 
his  conversation  afforded,  by  communicating  it  to  my  friend. 
Adieu. 

LETTER  LXXI 

To  the  Same 

THE  SHABBY  BEAU,  THE  MAN  IN  BLACK,  THE  CHINESE  PHILOSOPHER, 
ETC.,  AT  VAUXHALL 

THE  people  of  London  are  as  fond  of  walking  as  our  friends  at 
Pekin  of  riding;  one  of  the  principal  entertainments  of  the 
citizens  here  in  summer  is  to  repair  about  nightfall  to  a  garden  not 
far  from  town,  where  they  walk  about,  show  their  best  clothes  and 
best  faces,  and  listen  to  a  concert  provided  for  the  occasion. 

I  accepted  an  invitation  a  few  evenings  ago  from  my  old  friend, 
the  man  in  black,  to  be  one  of  a  party  that  was  to  sup  there;  and 
at  the  appointed  hour  waited  upon  him  at  his  lodgings.  There 
I  found  the  company  assembled,  and  expecting  my  arrival.  Our 
party  consisted  of  my  friend  in  superlative  finery,  his  stockings 

466 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

rolled,  a  black  velvet  waistcoat,  which  was  formerly  new,  and  a 
grey  wig  combed  down  in  imitation  of  hair;  a  pawnbroker's  widow, 
of  whom,  by  the  by,  my  friend  was  a  professed  admirer,  dressed 
out  in  green  damask,  with  three  gold  rings  on  every  finger;  Mr. 
Tibbs,  the  second-rate  beau  I  have  formerly  described,  together 
with  his  lady,  in  flimsy  silk,  dirty  gauze  instead  of  linen,  and  a  hat 
as  big  as  an  umbrella. 

Our  first  difficulty  was  in  settling  how  we  should  set  out.  Mrs. 
Tibbs  had  a  natural  aversion  to  the  water,  and  the  widow,  being 
a  little  in  flesh,  as  warmly  protested  against  walking;  a  coach  was 
therefore  agreed  upon;  which  being  too  small  to  carry  five,  Mr. 
Tibbs  consented  to  sit  in  his  wife's  lap. 

In  this  manner,  therefore,  we  set  forward,  being  entertained 
by  the  way  with  the  bodings  of  Mr.  Tibbs,  who  assured  us  he  did 
not  expect  to  see  a  single  creature  for  the  evening  above  the  degree 
of  a  cheesemonger;  that  this  was  the  last  night  of  the  gardens,  and 
that  consequently  we  should  be  pestered  with  the  nobility  and 
gentry  from  Thames  Street  and  Crooked  Lane;  with  several  other 
prophetic  ejaculations,  probably  inspired  by  the  uneasiness  of  his 
situation. 

The  illuminations  began  before  we  arrived,  and  I  must  confess, 
that  upon  entering  the  gardens  I  found  every  sense  overpaid  with 
more  than  expected  pleasure;  the  lights  every  where  glimmering 
through  the  scarcely-moving  trees  —  the  full-bodied  concert  burst- 
ing on  the  stillness  of  the  night  —  the  natural  concert  of  the  birds, 
in  the  more  retired  part  of  the  grove  vicing  with  that  which  was 
formed  by  art;  the  company  gaily  dressed,  looking  satisfaction, 
and  the  table  spread  with  various  delicacies,  all  conspired  to  fill 
my  imagination  with  the  visionary  happiness  of  the  Arabian  law- 
giver, and  lifted  me  into  an  ecstasy  of  admiration.  "Head  of  Con- 
fucius," cried  I  to  my  friend,  "  this  is  fine !  this  unites  rural  beauty 
with  courtly  magnificence !  If  we  expect  the  virgins  of  immortality, 
that  hang  on  every  tree,  and  may  be  plucked  at  every  desire,  I  do 
not  see  how  this  falls  short  of  Mahomet's  Paradise!"  —  "As  for 
virgins,"  cries  my  friend,  "it  is  true  they  are  a  fruit  that  do  not 
much  abound  in  our  gardens  here;  but  if  ladies,  as  plenty  as  apples 
in  autumn,  and  as  complying  as  any  Hour!  of  them  all,  can  content 
you,  I  fancy  we  have  no  need  to  go  to  heaven  for  Paradise." 

I  was  going  to  second  his  remarks,  when  we  were  called  to  a 
consultation  by  Mr.  Tibbs  and  the  rest  of  the  company,  to  know 

467 


CITIZEN    OF    THE   WORLD 

in  what  manner  we  were  to  lay  out  the  evening  to  the  greatest 
advantage.  Mrs.  Tibbs  was  for  keeping  the  genteel  walk  of  the 
garden,  where,  she  observed,  there  was  always  the  very  best  com- 
pany; the  widow,  on  the  contrary,  who  came  but  once  a  season,  was 
for  securing  a  good  standing  place  to  see  the  waterworks,  which 
she  assured  us  would  begin  in  less  than  an  hour  at  farthest;  a  dis- 
pute therefore  began,  and  as  it  was  managed  between  two  of  very 
opposite  characters,  it  threatened  to  grow  more  bitter  at  every 
reply.  Mrs.  Tibbs  wondered  how  people  could  pretend  to  know 
the  polite  world,  who  had  received  all  their  rudiments  of  breeding 
behind  a  counter;  to  which  the  other  replied,  that  though  some 
people  sat  behind  counters,  yet  they  could  sit  at  the  head  of  their 
own  tables  too,  and  carve  three  good  dishes  of  hot  meat  whenever 
they  thought  proper,  which  was  more  than  some  people  could  say 
for  themselves,  that  hardly  knew  a  rabbit  and  onions  from  a  green 
goose  and  gooseberries. 

It  is  hard  to  say  where  this  might  have  ended,  had  not  the  hus- 
band, who  probably  knew  the  impetuosity  of  his  wife's  disposition, 
proposed  to  end  the  dispute  by  adjourning  to  a  box,  and  try  if  there 
was  any  thing  to  be  had  for  supper  that  was  supportable.  To  this 
we  all  consented ;  but  here  a  new  distress  arose ;  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tibbs 
would  sit  in  none  but  a  genteel  box  —  a  box  where  they  might  see 
and  be  seen  —  one,  as  they  expressed  it,  in  the  very  focus  of  public 
view;  but  such  a  box  was  not  easy  to  be  obtained,  for  though  we 
were  perfectly  convinced  of  our  own  gentility,  and  the  gentility 
of  our  appearance,  yet  we  found  it  a  difficult  matter  to  persuade 
the  keepers  of  the  boxes  to  be  of  our  opinion ;  they  chose  to  reserve 
genteel  boxes  for  what  they  judged  more  genteel  company. 

At  last,  however,  we  were  fixed,  though  somewhat  obscurely, 
and  supplied  with  the  usual  entertainment  of  the  place.  The 
widow  found  the  supper  excellent,  but  Mrs.  Tibbs  thought  every 
thing  detestable.  "Come,  come,  my  dear,"  cries  the  husband, 
by  way  of  consolation,  "  to  be  sure  we  can't  find  such  dressing  here 
as  we  have  at  Lord  Crump's  or  Lady  Crimp's;  but,  for  Vauxhall 
dressing,  it  is  pretty  good:  it  is  not  their  victuals,  indeed,  I  find 
fault  with,  but  their  wine;  their  wine,"  cries  he,  drinking  off  a 
glass,  "indeed,  is  most  abominable." 

By  this  last  contradiction,  the  widow  was  fairly  conquered  in 
point  of  politeness.  She  perceived  now  that  she  had  no  preten- 
sions in  the  world  to  taste;  her  very  senses  were  vulgar,  since  she 

468 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

had  praised  detestable  custard,  and  smacked  at  wretched  wine; 
she  was  therefore  content  to  yield  the  victory,  and  for  the  rest  of 
the  night  to  listen  and  improve.  It  is  true,  she  would  now  and 
then  forget  herself,  and  confess  she  was  pleased,  but  they  soon 
brought  her  back  again  to  miserable  refinement.  She  once  praised 
the  painting  of  the  box  in  which  we  were  sitting,  but  was  soon  con- 
vinced that  such  paltry  pieces  ought  rather  to  excite  horror  than 
satisfaction:  she  ventured  again  to  commend  one  of  the  singers, 
but  Mrs.  Tibbs  soon  let  her  know,  in  the  style  of  a  connoisseur, 
that  the  singer  in  question  had  neither  ear,  voice,  nor  judgment. 

Mr.  Tibbs,  now,  willing  to  prove  that  his  wife's  pretensions  to 
music  were  just,  entreated  her  to  favour  the  company  with  a  song; 
but  to  this  she  gave  a  positive  denial  —  "  for  you  know  very  well, 
my  dear,"  says  she,  "that  I  am  not  in  voice  to-day,  and  when 
one's  voice  is  not  equal  to  one's  judgment,  what  signifies  singing? 
besides,  as  there  is  no  accompaniment,  it  would  be  but  spoiling 
music."  All  these  excuses,  however,  were  overruled  by  the  rest 
of  the  company,  who,  though  one  would  think  they  already  had 
music  enough,  joined  in  the  entreaty.  But  particularly  the  widow, 
now  willing  to  convince  the  company  of  her  breeding,  pressed  so 
warmly,  that  she  seemed  determined  to  take  no  refusal.  At  last, 
then,  the  lady  complied,  and  after  humming  for  some  minutes, 
began  with  such  a  voice,  and  such  affectation,  as,  I  could  perceive, 
gave  but  little  satisfaction  to  any  except  her  husband.  He  sat 
with  rapture  in  his  eye,  and  beat  time  with  his  hand  on  the  table. 

You  must  observe,  my  friend,  that  it  is  the  custom  of  this  country, 
when  a  lady  or  gentleman  happens  to  sing,  for  the  company  to  sit 
as  mute  and  motionless  as  statues.  Every  feature,  every  limb, 
must  seem  to  correspond  in  fixed  attention;  and  while  the  song 
continues,  they  are  to  remain  in  a  state  of  universal  petrifaction. 
In  this  mortifying  situation  we  had  continued  for  some  time, 
listening  to  the  song,  and  looking  with  tranquillity,  when  the 
master  of  the  box  came  to  inform  us,  that  the  waterworks  were 
going  to  begin.  At  this  information  I  could  instantly  perceive  the 
widow  bounce  from  her  seat;  but  correcting  herself,  she  sat  down 
again,  repressed  by  motives  of  good  breeding.  Mrs.  Tibbs,  who 
had  seen  the  waterworks  a  hundred  times,  resolving  not  to  be 
interrupted,  continued  her  song  without  any  share  of  mercy,  nor 
had  the  smallest  pity  on  our  impatience.  The  widow's  face,  I 
own,  gave  me  high  entertainment;  in  it  I  could  plainly  read  the 

469 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

struggle  she  felt  between  good -breeding  and  curiosity:  she  talked 
of  the  waterworks  the  whole  evening  before,  and  seemed  to  have 
come  merely  in  order  to  see  them;  but  then  she  could  not  bounce 
out  in  the  very  middle  of  a  song,  for  that  would  be  forfeiting  all 
pretensions  to  high  life,  or  high-lived  company,  ever  after.  Mrs. 
Tibbs,  therefore,  kept  on  singing,  and  we  continued  to  listen, 
till  at  last,  when  the  song  was  just  concluded,  the  waiter  came  to 
inform  us  that  the  waterworks  were  over! 

"The  waterworks  over!"  cried  the  widow;  "the  waterworks 
over  already!  that's  impossible!  they  can't  be  over  so  soon!" 
"It  is  not  my  business,"  replied  the  fellow,  "to  contradict  your 
ladyship;  I'll  run  again  and  see."  He  went,  and  soon  returned 
with  a  confirmation  of  the  dismal  tidings.  No  ceremony  could 
now  bind  my  friend's  disappointed  mistress;  she  testified  her 
displeasure  in  the  openest  manner:  in  short,  she  now  began  to 
find  fault  in  turn,  and  at  last  insisted  upon  going  home,  just  at  the 
time  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tibbs  assured  the  company,  that  the 
polite  hours  were  going  to  begin,  and  that  the  ladies  would  in- 
stantaneously be  entertained  with  the  horns.  Adieu. 


LETTER    LXXIV 
To  the  Same 

THE  DESCRIPTION  OF  A  LITTLE  GREAT  MAN 

IN  reading  the  newspapers  here,  I  have  reckoned  up  not  less 
than  twenty-five  great  men,  seventeen  very  great  men,  and 
nine  very  extraordinary  men,  in  less  than  the  compass  of  half-a-year. 
"These,"  say  the  gazettes,  "are  the  men  that  posterity  are  to  gaze 
at  with  admiration ;  these  the  names  that  Fame  will  be  employed  in 
holding  up  for  the  astonishment  of  succeeding  ages."  Let  me  see 
—  forty-six  great  men  in  half-a-year,  amount  to  just  ninety-two  in 
a  year.  I  wonder  how  posterity  will  be  able  to  remember  them  all, 
or  whether  the  people  in  future  times  will  have  any  other  business 
to  mind,  but  that  of  getting  the  catalogue  by  heart. 

Does  the  mayor  of  a  corporation  make  a  speech?  —  he  is  in- 
stantly set  down  for  a  great  man.  —  Does  a  pedant  digest  his 
commonplace-book  into  a  folio?  —  he  quickly  becomes  great. 
Does  a  poet  string  up  trite  sentiments  in  rhyme  ?  he  also  becomes 

47° 


CITIZEN    OF    THE   WORLD 

the  great  man  of  the  hour.  How  diminutive  soever  the  object  of 
admiration,  each  is  followed  by  a  crowd  of  still  more  diminutive 
admirers.  The  shout  begins  in  his  train;  onward  he  marches  to 
immortality;  looks  back  at  the  pursuing  crowd  with  self-satisfac- 
tion; catching  all  the  oddities,  the  whimsies,  the  absurdities,  and 
the  littlenesses  of  conscious  greatness  by  the  way. 

I  was  yesterday  invited  by  a  gentleman  to  dinner,  who  promised 
that  our  entertainment  should  consist  of  a  haunch  of  venison,  a 
turtle,  and  a  great  man.  I  came  according  to  appointment.  The 
venison  was  fine,  the  turtle  good,  but  the  great  man  insupportable. 
The  moment  I  ventured  to  speak,  I  was  at  once  contradicted  with 
a  snap.  I  attempted,  by  a  second  and  a  third  assault,  to  retrieve 
my  lost  reputation,  but  was  still  beat  back  with  confusion.  I  was 
resolved  to  attack  him  once  more  from  entrenchment,  and  turned 
the  conversation  upon  the  government  of  China:  but  even  here  he 
asserted,  snapped,  and  contradicted  as  before.  "Heavens," 
thought  I,  "this  man  pretends  to  know  China  even  better  than 
myself!"  I  looked  round  to  see  who  was  on  my  side;  but  every 
eye  was  fixed  in  admiration  on  the  great  man:  I  therefore  at  last 
thought  proper  to  sit  silent,  and  act  the  pretty  gentleman  during 
the  ensuing  conversation. 

When  a  man  has  once  secured  a  circle  of  admirers,  he  may  be  as 
ridiculous  here  as  he  thinks  proper;  and  it  all  passes  for  elevation 
of  sentiment,  or  learned  absence.  If  he  trangresses  the  common 
forms  of  breeding,  mistakes  even  a  teapot  for  a  tobacco-box,  it  is 
said  that  his  thoughts  are  fixed  on  more  important  objects :  to  speak 
and  to  act  like  the  rest  of  mankind  is  to  be  no  greater  than  they. 
There  is  something  of  oddity  in  the  very  idea  of  greatness;  for  we 
are  seldom  astonished  at  a  thing  very  much  resembling  ourselves. 

When  the  Tartars  make  a  Lama,  their  first  care  is  to  place  him  in 
a  dark  corner  of  the  temple:  here  he  is  to  sit  half  concealed  from 
view,  to  regulate  the  motion  of  his  hands,  lips,  and  eyes;  but,  above 
all,  he  is  enjoined  gravity  and  silence.  This,  however,  is  but  the 
prelude  to  his  apotheosis:  a  set  of  emissaries  are  dispatched  among 
the  people,  to  cry  up  his  piety,  gravity,  and  love  of  raw  flesh;  the 
people  take  them  at  their  word,  approach  the  Lama,  now  become 
an  idol,  with  the  most  humble  prostration;  he  receives  their  ad- 
dresses without  motion,  commences  a  god,  and  is  ever  after  fed  by 
his  priests  with  the  spoon  of  immortality.  The  same  receipt  in 
this  country  serves  to  make  a  great  man.  The  idol  only  keeps  close, 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

sends  out  his  little  emissaries  to  be  hearty  in  his  praise ;  and  straight, 
whether  statesman  or  author,  he  is  set  down  in  the  list  of  fame, 
continuing  to  be  praised  while  it  is  fashionable  to  praise,  or  while 
he  prudently  keeps  his  minuteness  concealed  from  the  public. 

I  have  visited  many  countries,  and  have  been  in  cities  without 
number,  yet  never  did  I  enter  a  town  which  could  not  produce  ten 
or  twelve  of  those  little  great  men ;  all  fancying  themselves  known  to 
the  rest  of  the  world,  and  complimenting  each  other  upon  their 
extensiye  reputation.  It  is  amusing  enough  when  two  of  those 
domestic  prodigies  of  learning  mount  the  stage  of  ceremony,  and 
give  and  take  praise  from  each  other.  I  have  been  present  when 
a  German  doctor,  for  having  pronounced  a  panegyric  upon  a  cer- 
tain monk,  was  thought  the  most  ingenious  man  in  the  world;  till 
the  monk  soon  after  divided  this  reputation  by  returning  the  com- 
pliment; by  which  means,  they  both  marched  off  with  universal 
applause. 

The  same  degree  of  undeserved  adulation  that  attends  our  great 
man  while  living,  often  also  follows  him  to  the  tomb.  It  frequently 
happens  that  one  of  his  little  admirers  sits  down,  big  with  the  impor- 
tant subject,  and  is  delivered  of  the  history  of  his  life  and  writings. 
This  may  properly  be  called  the  revolutions  of  a  life  between  the 
fireside  and  the  easy  chair.  In  this  we  learn  the  year  in  which  he 
was  born,  at  what  an  early  age  he  gave  symptoms  of  uncommon 
genius  and  application,  together  with  some  of  his  smart  sayings, 
collected  by  his  aunt  and  mother  while  yet  but  a  boy.  The  next 
book  introduces  him  to  the  university,  where  we  are  informed  of 
his  amazing  progress  in  learning,  his  excellent  skill  in  darning 
stockings,  and  his  new  invention  for  papering  books  to  save  the 
covers.  He  next  makes  his  appearance  in  the  republic  of  letters, 
and  publishes  his  folio.  Now  the  colossus  is  reared,  his  works  are 
eagerly  bought  up  by  all  the  purchasers  of  scarce  books.  The 
learned  societies  invite  him  to  become  a  member:  he  disputes 
against  some  foreigner  with  a  long  Latin  name,  conquers  in  the 
controversy,  is  complimented  by  several  authors  of  gravity  and 
importance,  is  excessively  fond  of  egg-sauce  with  his  pig,  becomes 
president  of  a  literary  club  and  dies  in  the  meridian  of  his  glory. 
Happy  they  who  thus  have  some  little  faithful  attendant,  who  never 
forsakes  them,  but  prepares  to  wrangle  and  to  praise  against  every 
opposer;  at  once  ready  to  increase  their  pride  while  living,  and 
their  character  when  dead!  For  you  and  me,  my  friend,  who  have 

472 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

no  humble  admirer  thus  to  attend  us  —  we,  who  neither  are,  nor 
never  will  be,  great  men,  and  who  do  not  much  care  whether  we 
are  great  men  or  no,  at  least  let  us  strive  to  be  honest  men,  and  to 
have  common  sense.  [Adieu.] 

LETTER  LXXVII 

To  the  Same 

THE    BEHAVIOUR    OF    A    SHOPKEEPER    AND    HIS    JOURNEYMAN 

THE  shops  of  London  are  as  well  furnished  as  those  of  Pekin. 
Those  of  London  have  a  picture  hung  at  their  door,  informing 
the  passengers  what  they  have  to  sell,  as  those  at  Pekin  have  a 
board  to  assure  the  buyer  that  they  have  no  intentions  to  cheat  him. 

I  was  this  morning  to  buy  silk  for  a  nightcap:  immediately  upon 
entering  the  mercer's  shop,  the  master  and  his  two  men,  with  wigs 
plastered  with  powder,  appeared  to  ask  my  commands.  They  were 
certainly  the  civilest  people  alive;  if  I  but  looked,  they  flew  to  the 
place  where  I  cast  my  eye;  every  motion  of  mine  sent  them  running 
round  the  whole  shop  for  my  satisfaction.  I  informed  them  that  I 
wanted  what  was  good,  and  they  showed  me  not  less  than  forty 
pieces,  and  each  was  better  than  the  former,  the  prettiest  pattern 
in  nature,  and  the  fittest  in  the  world  for  nightcaps.  "  My  very  good 
friend,"  said  I  to  the  mercer,  "you  must  not  pretend  to  instruct  me 
in  silks;  I  know  these  in  particular  to  be  no  better  than  your  mere 
flimsy  Bungees."  —  "That  may  be,"  cried  the  mercer,  who,  I 
afterwards  found,  had  never  contradicted  a  man  in  his  life;  "I  can't 
pretend  to  say  but  they  may;  but  I  can  assure  you,  my  Lady  Trail 
has  had  a  sacque  from  this  piece  this  very  morning."  —  "But 
friend,"  said  I,  "though  my  lady  has  chosen  a  sacque  from  it,  I  see 
no  necessity  that  I  should  wear  it  for  a  nightcap."-—  "That  may 
be,"  returned  he  again,  "  yet  what  becomes  a  pretty  lady,  will  at  any 
time  look  well  on  a  handsome  gentleman."  This  short  compliment 
was  thrown  in  so  very  seasonably  upon  my  ugly  face,  that  even 
though  I  disliked  the  silk,  I  desired  him  to  cut  me  off  the  pattern 
of  a  nightcap. 

While  this  business  was  consigned  to  his  journeymen,  the  master 
himself  took  down  some  pieces  of  silk  still  finer  than  any  I  had  yet 
seen,  and  spreading  them  before  me,  "There,"  cries  he,  "there's 
beauty;  my  Lord  Snakeskin  has  bespoke  the  fellow  to  this  for  the 

473 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

birth-night  this  very  morning;  it  would  look  charmingly  in  waist- 
coats." —  "But  I  don't  want  a  waistcoat,"  replied  I.  "Not  want 
a  waistcoat!"  returned  the  mercer,  "then  I  would  advise  you  to 
buy  one;  when  waistcoats  are  wanted,  you  may  depend  upon  it 
they  will  come  dear.  Always  buy  before  you  want,  and  you  are 
sure  to  be  well  used,  as  they  say  in  Cheapside."  There  was  so 
much  justice  in  his  advice,  that  I  could  not  refuse  taking  it;  besides, 
the  silk,  which  was  really  a  good  one,  increased  the  temptation;  so  I 
gave  orders  for  that  too. 

As  I  was  waiting  to  have  my  bargains  measured  and  cut,  which, 
I  know  not  how,  they  executed  but  slowly,  during  the  interval  the 
mercer  entertained  me  with  the  modern  manner  of  some  of  the 
nobility  receiving  company  in  their  morning  gowns;  "  Perhaps,  Sir," 
adds  he,  "you  have  a  mind  to  see  what  kind  of  silk  is  universally 
worn."  Without  waiting  for  my  reply,  he  spreads  a  piece  before 
me,  which  might  be  reckoned  beautiful  even  in  China.  "If  the 
nobility,"  continues  he,  "were  to  know  I  sold  this  to  any  under  a 
Right  Honourable,  I  should  certainly  lose  their  custom;  you  see, 
my  Lord,  it  is  at  once  rich,  tasty,  and  quite  the  thing."-—  "I  am 
no  Lord,"  interrupted  I.  —  "I  beg  pardon,"  cried  he;  "but  be 
pleased  to  remember,  when  you  intend  buying  a  morning  gown, 
that  you  had  an  offer  from  me  of  something  worth  money.  Con- 
science, Sir,  conscience  is  my  way  of  dealing;  you  may  buy  a 
morning  gown  now,  or  you  may  stay  till  they  become  dearer  and 
less  fashionable;  but  it  is  not  my  business  to  advise."  In  short, 
most  reverend  Fum,  he  persuaded  me  to  buy  a  morning  gown  also, 
and  would  probably  have  persuaded  me  to  have  bought  half  the 
goods  in  his  shop,  if  I  had  stayed  long  enough,  or  was  furnished  with 
sufficient  money. 

Upon  returning  home,  I  could  not  help  reflecting,  with  some 
astonishment,  how  this  very  man,  with  such  a  confined  education 
and  capacity,  was  yet  capable  of  turning  me  as  he  thought  proper, 
and  moulding  me  to  his  inclinations !  I  knew  he  was  only  answering 
his  own  purposes,  even  while  he  attempted  to  appear  solicitous  about 
mine:  yet,  by  a  voluntary  infatuation,  a  sort  of  passion  compounded 
of  vanity  and  good-nature,  I  walked  into  the  snare  with  my  eyes 
open,  and  put  myself  to  future  pain  in  order  to  give  him  immediate 
pleasure.  The  wisdom  of  the  ignorant  somewhat  resembles  the  in- 
stinct of  animals ;  it  is  diffused  in  but  a  very  narrow  sphere,  but  with- 
in that  circle  it  acts  with  vigour,  uniformity,  and  success.  Adieu. 

474 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

LETTER   LXXVIH 
To  the  Same 

THE  FRENCH  RIDICULED  AFTER  THEIR  OWN  MANNER 

FROM  my  former  accounts,  you  may  be  apt  to  fancy  the  English 
the  most  ridiculous  people  under  the  sun.  They  are  indeed 
ridiculous;  yet  every  other  nation  in  Europe  is  equally  so;  each 
laughs  at  each,  and  the  Asiatic  at  all. 

I  may,  upon  another  occasion,  point  out  what  is  most  strikingly 
absurd  in  other  countries;  I  shall  at  present  confine  myself  only  to 
France.  The  first  national  peculiarity  a  traveller  meets  upon  enter- 
ing that  kingdom,  is  an  odd  sort  of  staring  vivacity  in  every  eye, 
not  excepting  even  the  children;  the  people,  it  seems,  have  got  it 
into  their  heads,  that  they  have  more  wit  than  others,  and  so  stare, 
in  order  to  look  smart. 

I  know  not  how  it  happens,  but  there  appears  a  sickly  delicacy 
in  the  faces  of  their  finest  women.  This  may  have  introduced  the 
use  of  paint,  and  paint  produces  wrinkles ;  so  that  a  fine  lady  shall 
look  like  a  hag  at  twenty-three.  But  as,  in  some  measure,  they 
never  appear  young,  so  it  may  be  equally  asserted,  that  they  actually 
think  themselves  never  old;  a  gentle  Miss  shall  prepare  for  new 
conquests  at  sixty,  shall  hobble  a  rigadoon  when  she  can  scarce 
walk  out  without  a  crutch;  she  shall  affect  the  girl,  play  her  fan  and 
her  eyes,  and  talk  of  sentiments,  bleeding  hearts,  and  expiring  for 
love,  when  actually  dying  with  age.  Like  a  departing  philosopher 
she  attempts  to  make  her  last  moments  the  most  brilliant  of  her  life. 

Their  civility  to  strangers  is  what  they  are  chiefly  proud  of;  and, 
to  confess  sincerely,  their  beggars  are  the  very  politest  beggars  I 
ever  knew:  in  other  places  a  traveller  is  addressed  with  a  piteous 
whine,  or  a  sturdy  solemnity,  but  a  French  beggar  shall  ask  your 
charity  with  a  very  genteel  bow,  and  thank  you  for  it  with  a  smile 
and  a  shrug. 

Another  instance  of  this  people's  breeding  I  must  not  forget. 
An  Englishman  would  not  speak  his  native  language  in  a  company 
of  foreigners,  where  he  was  sure  that  none  understood  him;  a 
travelling  Hottentot  himself  would  be  silent  if  acquainted  only 
with  the  language  of  his  country;  but  a  Frenchman  shall  talk  to 
you  whether  you  understand  his  language  or  not;  never  troubling 

475 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

his  head  whether  you  have  learned  French,  still  he  keeps  up  the 
conversation,  fixes  his  eye  full  in  your  face,  and  asks  a  thousand 
questions,  which  he  answers  himself,  for  want  of  a  more  satisfac- 
tory reply. 

But  their  civility  to  foreigners  is  not  half  so  great  as  their  admira- 
tion of  themselves.  Every  thing  that  belongs  to  them  and  their 
nation  is  great,  magnificent  beyond  expression,  quite  romantic! 
every  garden  is  a  paradise,  every  hovel  a  palace,  and  every  woman 
an  angel.  They  shut  their  eyes  close,  throw  their  mouths  wide  open, 
and  cry  out  in  a  rapture,  "Sacref  what  beauty!  O  del  I  what 
taste !  M ort  de  ma  vie  I  what  grandeur !  was  ever  any  people  like 
ourselves  ?  we  are  the  nation  of  men,  and  all  the  rest  no  better  than 
two-legged  barbarians." 

I  fancy  the  French  would  make  the  best  cooks  in  the  world  if 
they  had  but  meat;  as  it  is,  they  can  dress  you  out  five  different 
dishes  from  a  nettle-top,  seven  from  a  dock-leaf,  and  twice  as  many 
from  a  frog's  haunches;  these  eat  prettily  enough  when  one  is  a 
little  used  to  them,  are  easy  of  digestion,  and  seldom  overload  the 
stomach  with  crudities.  They  seldom  dine  under  seven  hot  dishes: 
it  is  true,  indeed,  with  all  this  magnificence,  they  seldom  spread 
a  cloth  before  the  guests ;  but  in  that  I  cannot  be  angry  with  them, 
since  those  who  have  got  no  linen  on  their  backs,  may  very  well 
be  excused  for  wanting  it  on  their  tables. 

Even  religion  itself  loses  its  solemnity  among  them.  Upon  their 
roads,  at  about  every  five  miles  distance,  you  see  an  image  of  the 
Virgin  Mary,  dressed  up  in  grim  head-clothes,  painted  cheeks,  and 
an  old  red  petticoat;  before  her  a  lamp  is  often  kept  burning,  at 
which,  with  the  saint's  permission,  I  have  frequently  lighted  my 
pipe.  Instead  of  the  Virgin,  you  are  sometimes  presented  with 
a  crucifix,  at  other  times  with  a  wooden  Saviour,  fitted  out  in  com- 
plete garniture,  with  sponge,  spear,  nails,  pincers,  hammer,  bees- 
wax, and  vinegar-bottle.  Some  of  those  images,  I  have  been  told, 
came  down  from  heaven;  if  so,  in  heaven  they  have  but  bungling 
workmen. 

In  passing  through  their  towns,  you  frequently  see  the  men  sitting 
at  the  doors  knitting  stockings,  while  the  care  of  cultivating  the 
ground  and  pruning  the  vines  falls  to  the  women.  This  is,  perhaps, 
the  reason  why  the  fair  sex  are  granted  some  peculiar  privileges  in 
this  country;  particularly,  when  they  can  get  horses,  of  riding  with- 
out a  side-saddle. 

476 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

But  I  begin  to  think  you  may  find  this  description  pert  and  dull 
enough;  perhaps  it  is  so;  yet,  in  general,  it  is  the  manner  in  which 
the  French  usually  describe  foreigners;  and  it  is  but  just  to  force 
a  part  of  that  ridicule  back  upon  them,  which  they  attempt  to  lavish 
on  others.  Adieu. 

LETTER  LXXIX 

To  the  Same 

THE  PREPARATIONS  OF    BOTH   THEATRES,  FOR  A  WINTER  CAMPAIGN 

THE  two  theatres  which  serve  to  amuse  the  citizens  here,  are 
again  opened  for  the  winter.  The  mimetic  troops,  different 
from  those  of  the  state,  begin  their  campaign  when  all  the  others 
quit  the  field;  and,  at  a  time  when  the  Europeans  cease  to  destroy 
each  other  in  reality,  they  are  entertained  with  mock  battles  upon 
the  stage. 

The  dancing  master  once  more  shakes  his  quivering  feet;  the 
carpenter  prepares  his  paradise  of  pasteboard;  the  hero  resolves 
to  cover  his  forehead  with  brass,  and  the  heroine  begins  to  scour 
up  her  copper  tail,  preparative  to  future  operations;  in  short,  all 
are  in  motion,  from  the  theatrical  letter  carrier  in  yellow  clothes, 
to  Alexander  the  Great  that  stands  on  a  stool. 

Both  houses  have  already  commenced  hostilities.  War,  open 
war,  and  no  quarter  received  or  given !  Two  singing  women,  like 
heralds,  have  begun  the  contest;  the  whole  town  is  divided  on  this 
solemn  occasion ;  one  has  the  finest  pipe,  the  other  the  finest  manner; 
one  curtsies  to  the  ground,  the  other  salutes  the  audience  with  a 
smile ;  one  comes  on  with  modesty  which  asks,  the  other  with  bold- 
ness which  extorts  applause ;  one  wears  powder,  the  other  has  none ; 
one  has  the  longest  waist,  but  the  other  appears  most  easy:  all, 
all  is  important  and  serious;  the  town  as  yet  perseveres  in  its  neu- 
trality ;  a  cause  of  such  moment  demands  the  most  mature  delibera- 
tion; they  continue  to  exhibit,  and  it  is  very  possible  this  contest 
may  continue  to  please  to  the  end  of  the  season. 

But  the  generals  of  either  army  have,  as  I  am  told,  several  rein- 
forcements to  lend  occasional  assistance.  If  they  produce  a  pair 
of  diamond  buckles  at  one  house,  we  have  a  pair  of  eyebrows  that 
can  match  them  at  the  other.  If  we  outdo  them  in  our  attitude, 
they  can  overcome  us  by  a  shrug ;  if  we  can  bring  more  children  on 

477 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

the  stage,  they  can  bring  more  guards  in  red  clothes,  who  strut  and 
shoulder  their  swords  to  the  astonishment  of  every  spectator. 

They  tell  me  here,  that  people  frequent  the  theatre  in  order  to  be 
instructed  as  well  as  amused.  I  smile  to  hear  the  assertion.  If  I 
ever  go  to  one  of  their  playhouses,  what  with  trumpets,  hallooing 
behind  the  stage,  and  bawling  upon  it,  I  am  quite  dizzy  before  the 
performance  is  over.  If  I  enter  the  house  with  any  sentiments 
in  my  head,  I  am  sure  to  have  none  going  away,  the  whole  mind 
being  filled  with  a  dead  march,  a  funeral  procession,  a  cat-call,  a 
jig,  or  a  tempest. 

There  is,  perhaps,  nothing  more  easy  than  to  write  properly  for 
the  English  theatre ;  I  am  amazed  that  none  are  apprenticed  to  the 
trade.  The  author,  when  well  acquainted  with  the  value  of  thunder 
and  lightning;  when  versed  in  all  the  mystery  of  scene-shifting  and 
trap-doors ;  when  skilled  in  the  proper  periods  to  introduce  a  wire- 
walker  or  a  waterfall;  when  instructed  in  every  actor's  peculiar 
talent,  and  capable  of  adapting  his  speeches  to  the  supposed 
excellence;  when  thus  instructed,  he  knows  all  that  can  give  a 
modern  audience  pleasure.  One  player  shines  in  an  exclamation, 
another  in  a  groan,  a  third  in  a  horror,  a  fourth  in  a  start,  a  fifth  in  a 
smile,  a  sixth  faints,  and  a  seventh  fidgets  round  the  stage  with 
peculiar  vivacity;  that  piece,  therefore,  will  succeed  best,  where 
each  has  a  proper  opportunity  of  shining:  the  actor's  business  is 
not  so  much  to  adapt  himself  to  the  poet,  as  the  poet's  to  adapt  him- 
self to  the  actor. 

The  great  secret,  therefore,  of  tragedy  writing,  at  present,  is  a 
perfect  acquaintance  with  theatrical  "  ah  "  's  and  "  oh  "  's ;  a  certain 
number  of  these,  interspersed  with  "gods!"  "tortures!"  "racks!" 
and  "damnation!"  shall  distort  every  actor  almost  into  convulsions, 
and  draw  tears  from  every  spectator;  a  proper  use  of  these  will 
infallibly  fill  the  whole  house  with  applause.  But,  above  all,  a 
whining  scene  must  strike  most  forcibly.  I  would  advise,  from 
my  present  knowledge  of  the  audience,  the  two  favourite  players 
of  the  town  to  introduce  a  scene  of  this  sort  in  every  play.  Towards 
the  middle  of  the  last  act,  I  would  have  them  enter  with  wild  looks 
and  outspread  arms:  there  is  no  necessity  for  speaking,  they  are 
only  to  groan  at  each  other;  they  must  vary  the  tones  of  exclamation 
and  despair  through  the  whole  theatrical  gamut,  wring  their  figures 
into  every  shape  of  distress,  and,  when  their  calamities  have  drawn 
a  proper  quantity  of  tears  from  the  sympathetic  spectators,  they 

478 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

may  go  off  in  dumb  solemnity  at  different  doors,  clasping  their 
hands,  or  slapping  their  pocket-holes:  this,  which  may  be  called  a 
tragic  pantomime,  will  answer  every  purpose  of  moving  the  passions 
as  well  as  words  could  have  done,  and  it  must  save  those  expenses 
which  go  to  reward  an  author. 

All  modern  plays  that  would  keep  the  audience  alive,  must  be 
conceived  in  this  manner;  and,  indeed,  many  a  modern  play  is 
made  up  on  no  other  plan.  This  is  the  merit  that  lifts  up  the  heart, 
like  opium,  into  a  rapture  of  insensibility,  and  can  dismiss  the  mind 
from  all  the  fatigue  of  thinking:  this  is  the  eloquence  that  shines  in 
many  a  long  forgotten  scene,  which  has  been  reckoned  excessive 
fine  upon  acting;  this  the  lightning  that  flashes  no  less  in  the  hyper- 
bolical tyrant,  who  breakfasts  on  the  wind,  than  in  little  Norval,  as 
harmless  as  the  babe  unborn.  Adieu. 


LETTER  LXXXI 

To  the  Same 
THE  LADIES'  TRAINS  RIDICULED 

I  HAVE  as  yet  given  you  but  a  short  and  imperfect  description 
of  the  ladies  of  England.  Woman,  my  friend,  is  a  subject  not 
easily  understood,  even  in  China ;  what,  therefore,  can  be  expected 
from  my  knowledge  of  the  sex  in  a  country  where  they  are  univer- 
sally allowed  to  be  ridldes,  and  I  but  a  stranger  ? 

To  confess  a  truth,  I  was  afraid  to  begin  the  description,  lest  the 
sex  should  undergo  some  new  revolution  before  it  was  finished,  and 
my  picture  should  thus  become  old  before  it  could  well  be  said  to 
have  ever  been  new.  To-day  they  are  lifted  upon  stilts ;  to-morrow 
they  lower  their  heels,  and  raise  their  heads;  their  clothes  at  one 
time  are  bloated  out  with  whalebone;  at  present  they  have  laid  their 
hoops  aside,  and  are  become  as  slim  as  mermaids.  All,  all  is  in  a 
state  of  continual  fluctuation,  from  the  mandarine's  wife  who 
rattles  through  the  streets  in  her  chariot,  to  the  humble  sempstress 
who  clatters  over  the  pavement  in  iron-shod  pattens. 

What  chiefly  distinguishes  the  sex  at  present  is  the  train.  As  a 
lady's  quality  or  fashion  was  once  determined  here  by  the  circum- 
ference of  her  hoop,  both  are  now  measured  by  the  length  of  her 
tail.  Women  of  moderate  fortunes  are  contented  with  tails  mod- 

479 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

erately  long ;  but  ladies  of  true  taste  and  distinction  set  no  bounds  to 
their  ambition  in  this  particular.  I  am  told  the  Lady  Mayoress, 
on  days  of  ceremony,  carries  one  longer  than  a  bell-wether  of 
Bantam,  whose  tail,  you  know,  is  trundled  along  in  a  wheel-barrow. 

Sun  of  China,  what  contradictions  do  we  find  hi  this  strange 
world!  not  only  the  people  of  different  countries  think  in  opposition 
to  each  other,  but  the  inhabitants  of  a  single  island  are  often  found 
inconsistent  with  themselves.  Would  you  believe  it?  this  very 
people,  my  Fum,  who  are  so  fond  of  seeing  their  women  with  long 
tails,  at  the  same  time  dock  their  horses  to  the  very  rump !  !  ! 

But  you  may  easily  guess,  that  I  am  no  ways  displeased  with  a 
fashion  which  tends  to  increase  a  demand  for  the  commodities  of 
the  East,  and  is  so  very  beneficial  to  the  country  in  which  I  was 
born.  Nothing  can  be  better  calculated  to  increase  the  price  of 
silk  than  the  present  manner  of  dressing.  A  lady's  train  is  not 
bought  but  at  some  expense,  and  after  it  has  swept  the  public  walks 
for  a  very  few  evenings,  is  fit  to  be  worn  no  longer:  more  silk  must  be 
bought  hi  order  to  repair  the  breach,  and  some  ladies  of  peculiar 
economy  are  thus  found  to  patch  up  their  tails  eight  or  ten  times  in 
a  season.  This  unnecessary  consumption  may  introduce  poverty 
here,  but  then  we  shah1  be  the  richer  for  it  in  China. 

The  man  in  black,  who  is  a  professed  enemy  to  this  manner  of 
ornamenting  the  tail,  assures  me,  there  are  numberless  inconve- 
niences attending  it,  and  that  a  lady  dressed  up  to  the  fashion  is  as 
much  a  cripple  as  any  in  Nankin.  But  his  chief  indignation  is 
levelled  at  those  who  dress  hi  this  manner  without  a  proper  fortune 
to  support  it.  He  assures  me,  that  he  has  known  some  who  would 
have  a  tail  though  they  wanted  a  petticoat;  and  others,  who,  without 
any  other  pretensions,  fancied  they  became  ladies,  merely  from  the 
addition  of  three  superfluous  yards  of  ragged  silk:  —  "I  know  a 
thrifty  good  woman,"  continues  he,  "who  thinking  herself  obliged 
to  carry  a  train  like  her  betters,  never  walks  from  home  without  the 
uneasy  apprehension  of  wearing  it  out  too  soon:  every  excursion 
she  makes,  gives  her  new  anxiety;  and  her  train  is  every  bit  as  impor- 
tunate, and  wounds  her  peace  as  much  as  the  bladder  we  sometimes 
see  tied  to  the  tail  of  a  cat." 

Nay,  he  ventures  to  affirm,  that  a  train  may  often  bring  a  lady 
into  the  most  critical  circumstances:  "for,  should  a  rude  fellow," 
says  he,  "  offer  to  come  up  to  ravish  a  kiss,  and  the  lady  attempt  to 
avoid  it,  in  retiring  she  must  necessarily  tread  upon  her  train,  and 

480 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

thus  fall  fairly  upon  her  back ;  by  which  means,  every  one  knows,  — 
her  clothes  may  be  spoiled." 

The  ladies  here  make  no  scruple  to  laugh  at  the  smallness  of  a ' 
Chinese  slipper,  but  I  fancy  our  wives  at  China  would  have  a  more 
real  cause  of  laughter,  could  they  but  see  the  immoderate  length  of 
a  European  train.  Head  of  Confucius!  to  view  a  human  being 
crippling  herself  with  a  great  unwieldy  tail  for  our  diversion !  Back- 
ward she  cannot  go,  forward  she  must  move  but  slowly;  and  if 
ever  she  attempts  to  turn  round,  it  must  be  in  a  circle  not  smaller 
than  that  described  by  the  wheeling  crocodile,  when  it  would  face 
an  assailant.  And  yet  to  think  that  all  this  confers  importance  and 
majesty !  to  think  that  a  lady  acquires  additional  respect  from  fifteen 
yards  of  trailing  taffety !  I  cannot  contain  —  ha !  ha !  ha !  this  is 
certainly  a  remnant  of  European  barbarity:  the  female  Tartar, 
dressed  in  sheep  skins,  is  in  far  more  convenient  drapery.  Their 
own  writers  have  sometimes  inveighed  against  the  absurdity  of 
this  fashion,  but  perhaps  it  has  never  been  ridiculed  so  well  as  upon 
the  Italian  theatre,  where  Pasquariello  being  engaged  to  attend  on 
the  Countess  of  Fernambroco,  having  one  of  his  hands  employed 
in  carrying  her  muff,  and  the  other  her  lap-dog,  he  bears  her  train 
majestically  along,  by  sticking  it  in  the  waistband  of  his  breeches ! 
Adieu. 


LETTER  LXXXVI 

To  the  Same 

THE  RACES  OF  NEWMARKET  RIDICULED.      DESCRIPTION  OF  A  CART 

RACE 

OF  all  the  places  of  amusement  where  gentlemen  and  ladies 
are  entertained,  I  have  not  been  yet  to  visit  Newmarket. 
This,  I  am  told,  is  a  large  field,  where,  upon  certain  occasions, 
three  or  four  horses  are  brought  together,  then  set  a-running,  and 
that  horse  which  runs  fastest  wins  the  wager. 

This  is  reckoned  a  very  polite  and  fashionable  amusement  here, 
much  more  followed  by  the  nobility  than  partridge  fighting  at  Java, 
or  paper  kites  in  Madagascar.  Several  of  the  great  here,  I  am  told, 
understand  as  much  of  farriery  as  their  grooms;  and  a  horse,  with 
any  share  of  merit,  can  never  want  a  patron  among  the  nobility. 

481 


CITIZEN    OF   THE    WORLD 

We  have  a  description  of  this  entertainment  almost  every  day 
in  some  of  the  gazettes,  as  for  instance :  "  On  such  a  day  the  Give 
and  Take  Plate  was  run  for  between  his  Grace's  Crab,  his  Lord- 
ship's Periwinkle,  and  'Squire  Smackem's  Slamerkin.  All  rode 
their  own  horses.  There  was  the  greatest  concourse  of  nobility 
that  has  been  known  here  for  several  seasons.  The  odds  were  in 
favour  of  Crab  in  the  beginning;  but  Slamerkin,  after  the  first  heat, 
seemed  to  have  the  match  hollow;  however,  it  was  soon  seen  that 
Periwinkle  improved  in  wind,  which  at  last  turned  out  accordingly; 
Crab  was  run  to  a  stand  still,  Slamerkin  was  knocked  up,  and  Peri- 
winkle was  brought  in  with  universal  applause."  Thus,  you  see. 
Periwinkle  received  universal  applause,  and,  no  doubt,  his  lord- 
ship came  in  for  some  share  of  that  praise  which  was  so  liberally 
bestowed  upon  Periwinkle.  Sun  of  China!  how  glorious  must  the 
senator  appear  in  his  cap  and  leather  breeches,  his  whip  crossed 
in  his  mouth,  and  thus  coming  to  the  goal,  amongst  the  shouts  of 
grooms,  jockeys,  pimps,  stable-bred  dukes,  and  degraded  generals ! 

From  the  description  of  this  princely  amusement,  now  tran- 
scribed, and  from  the  great  veneration  I  have  for  the  characters 
of  its  principal  promoters,  I  make  no  doubt  but  I  shall  look  upon 
a  horse-race  with  becoming  reverence,  predisposed  as  I  am  by  a 
similar  amusement,  of  which  I  have  lately  been  a  spectator;  for 
just  now  I  happened  to  have  an  opportunity  of  being  present  at 
a  cart  race. 

Whether  this  contention  between  three  carts  of  different  parishes 
was  promoted  by  a  subscription  among  the  nobility,  or  whether 
the  grand  jury,  in  council  assembled,  had  gloriously  combined  to 
encourage  plaustral  merit,  I  cannot  take  upon  me  to  determine; 
but  certain  it  is,  the  whole  was  conducted  with  the  utmost  regularity 
and  decorum,  and  the  company,  which  made  a  brilliant  appearance, 
were  universally  of  opinion,  that  the  sport  was  high,  the  running 
fine,  and  the  riders  influenced  by  no  bribe. 

It  was  run  on  the  road  from  London,  to  a  village  called  Brent- 
ford, between  a  turnip-cart,  a  dust-cart,  and  a  dung-cart;  each  of 
the  owners  condescending  to  mount,  and  be  his  own  driver.  The 
odds,  at  starting,  were  Dust  against  Dung,  five  to  four;  but,  after 
half  a  mile's  going,  the  knowing  ones  found  themselves  all  on  the 
wrong  side,  and  it  was  Turnip  against  the  field,  brass  to  silver. 

Soon,  however,  the  contest  became  more  doubtful;  Turnip  indeed 
kept  the  way,  but  it  was  perceived  that  Dung  had  better  bottom. 

482 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

The  road  re-echoed  with  the  shouts  of  the  spectators  —  "  Dung 
against  Turnip!  Turnip  against  Dung!"  was  now  the  universal 
cry;  neck  and  neck;  one  rode  lighter,  but  the  other  had  more  judg- 
ment. I  could  not  but  particularly  observe  the  ardour  with  which 
the  fair  sex  espoused  the  cause  of  the  different  riders  on  this  occa- 
sion ;  one  was  charmed  with  the  unwashed  beauties  of  Dung;  another 
was  captivated  with  the  patibulary  aspect  of  Turnip;  while,  in  the 
meantime,  unfortunate  gloomy  Dust,  who  came  whipping  behind, 
was  cheered  by  the  encouragement  of  some,  and  pity  of  all. 

The  contention  now  continued  for  some  time,  without  a  possi- 
bility of  determining  to  whom  victory  designed  the  prize.  The 
winning  post  appeared  in  view,  and  he  who  drove  the  turnip-cart 
assured  himself  of  success;  and  successful  he  might  have  been, 
had  his  horse  been  as  ambitious  as  he;  but,  upon  approaching  a 
turn  from  the  road,  which  led  homewards,  the  horse  fairly  stood 
still,  and  refused  to  move  a  foot  farther.  The  dung-cart  had 
scarce  time  to  enjoy  this  temporary  triumph,  when  it  was  pitched 
headlong  into  a  ditch  by  the  way-side,  and  the  rider  left  to  wallow 
in  congenial  mud.  Dust,  in  the  meantime,  soon  came  up,  and  not 
being  far  from  the  post,  came  in,  amidst  the  shouts  and  acclama- 
tions of  all  the  spectators,  and  greatly  caressed  by  all  the  quality 
of  Brentford.  Fortune  was  kind  only  to  one,  who  ought  to  have 
been  favourable  to  all ;  each  had  peculiar  merit,  each  laboured  hard 
to  earn  the  prize,  and  each  richly  deserved  the  cart  he  drove. 

I  do  not  know  whether  this  description  may  not  have  anticipated 
that  which  I  intended  giving  of  Newmarket.  I  am  told,  there  is 
little  else  to  be  seen  even  there.  There  may  be  some  minute  differ- 
ences in  the  dress  of  the  spectators,  but  none  at  all  in  their  under- 
standings: the  quality  of  Brentford  are  as  remarkable  for  polite- 
ness and  delicacy  as  the  breeders  of  Newmarket.  The  quality 
of  Brentford  drive  their  own  carts,  and  the  honourable  fraternity 
of  Newmarket  ride  their  own  horses.  In  short,  the  matches  in 
one  place  are  as  rational  as  those  in  the  other;  and  it  is  more  than 
probable,  that  turnips,  dust,  and  dung,  are  all  that  can  be  found 
to  furnish  out  description  in  either. 

Forgive  me,  my  friend;  but  a  person  like  me,  bred  up  in  a  philo- 
sophic seclusion,  is  apt  to  regard  perhaps  with  too  much  asperity, 
those  occurrences  which  sink  man  below  his  station  in  nature,  and 
diminish  the  intrinsic  value  of  humanity.  Adieu. 

483 


CITIZEN    OF    THE   WORLD 

LETTER   LXXXVIII 

To  the  Same 

THE  LADIES  ADVISED  TO  GET  HUSBANDS.      A  STORY  TO  THIS  PURPOSE 

AS  the  instruction  of  the  fair  sex  in  this  country  is  entirely  com- 
mitted to  the  care  of  foreigners;  as  their  language-masters, 
music-masters,  hair-frizzers,  and  governesses,  are  all  from  abroad, 
I  had  some  intentions  of  opening  a  female  academy  myself,  and 
made  no  doubt,  as  I  was  quite  a  foreigner,  of  meeting  a  favourable 
reception. 

In  this  I  intended  to  instruct  the  ladies  in  all  the  conjugal  mys- 
teries; wives  should  be  taught  the  art  of  managing  husbands,  and 
maids  the  skill  of  properly  choosing  them.  I  would  teach  a  wife 
how  far  she  might  venture  to  be  sick,  without  giving  disgust;  she 
should  be  acquainted  with  the  great  benefits  of  the  cholic  in  the 
stomach,  and  all  the  thorough-bred  insolence  of  fashion.  Maids 
should  learn  the  secret  of  nicely  distinguishing  every  competitor; 
they  should  be  able  to  know  the  difference  between  a  pedant  and 
a  scholar,  a  citizen  and  a  prig,  a  squire  and  his  horse,  a  beau  and  his 
monkey;  but  chiefly,  they  should  be  taught  the  art  of  managing 
their  smiles,  from  the  contemptuous  simper  to  the  long  laborious 
laugh. 

But  I  have  discontinued  the  project;  for  what  would  signify 
teaching  ladies  the  manner  of  governing  or  choosing  husbands, 
when  marriage  is  at  present  so  much  out  of  fashion,  that  a  lady  is 
very  well  off  who  can  get  any  husband  at  all  ?  Celibacy  now  pre- 
vails in  every  rank  of  life ;  the  streets  are  crowded  with  old  bachelors, 
and  the  houses  with  ladies  who  have  refused  good  offers,  and  are 
never  likely  to  receive  any  for  the  future. 

The  only  advice,  therefore,  I  could  give  the  fair  sex,  as  things 
stand  at  present,  is  to  get  husbands  as  fast  as  they  can.  There  is 
certainly  nothing  in  the  whole  creation,  not  even  Babylon  in  ruins, 
more  truly  deplorable  than  a  lady  in  the  virgin  bloom  of  sixty- three, 
or  a  battered  unmarried  beau,  who  squibs  about  from  place  to 
place,  showing  his  pigtail  wig  and  his  ears.  The  one  appears  to  my 
imagination  in  the  form  of  a  double  nightcap,  or  a  roll  of  pomatum; 
the  other  in  the  shape  of  an  electuary,  or  a  box  of  pills. 

I  would  once  more,  therefore,  advise  the  ladies  to  get  husbands. 

484 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

I  would  desire  them  not  to  discard  an  old  lover  without  very  sufficient 
reasons,  nor  treat  the  new  with  ill-nature  till  they  know  him  false; 
let  not  prudes  allege  the  falseness  of  the  sex,  coquettes  the  pleasures 
of  long  courtship,  or  parents  the  necessary  preliminaries  of  penny 
for  penny.  I  have  reasons  that  would  silence  even  a  casuist  in  this 
particular.  In  the  first  place,  therefore,  I  divide  the  subject  into 
fifteen  heads,  and  then,  sic  argumentor,  —  But,  not  to  give  you  and 
myself  the  spleen,  be  contented  at  present  with  an  Indian  tale :  — 

[THE  MAN-FISH.] 

IN  a  winding  of  the  river  Amidar,  just  before  it  falls  into  the 
Caspian  Sea,  there  lies  an  island  unfrequented  by  the  inhabitants 
of  the  continent.  In  this  seclusion,  blest  with  all  that  wild  unculti- 
vated nature  could  bestow,  lived  a  princess  and  her  two  daughters. 
She  had  been  wrecked  upon  the  coast  while  her  children  as  yet 
were  infants,  who,  of  consequence,  though  grown. up,  were  entirely 
unacquainted  with  man.  Yet,  inexperienced  as  the  young  ladies 
were  in  the  opposite  sex,  both  early  discovered  symptoms,  the  one 
of  prudery,  the  other  of  being  a  coquette.  The  eldest  was  ever 
learning  maxims  of  wisdom  and  discretion  from  her  mamma, 
while  the  youngest  employed  all  her  hours  in  gazing  at  her  own  face 
in  a  neighbouring  fountain. 

Their  usual  amusement  in  this  solitude  was  fishing.  Their 
mother  had  taught  them  all  the  secrets  of  the  art ;  she  showed  them 
which  were  the  most  likely  places  to  throw  out  the  line,  what  baits 
were  most  proper  for  the  various  seasons,  and  the  best  man- 
ner to  draw  up  the  finny  prey,  when  they  had  hooked  it.  In  this 
manner  they  spent  their  time,  easy  and  innocent,  till  one  day,  the 
Princess  being  indisposed,  desired  them  to  go  and  catch  her  a 
sturgeon  or  a  shark  for  supper,  which  she  fancied  might  sit  easy 
on  her  stomach.  The  daughters  obeyed,  and  clapping  on  a  gold  fish, 
the  usual  bait  on  those  occasions,  went  and  sat  upon  one  of  the 
rocks,  letting  the  gilded  hook  glide  down  with  the  stream. 

On  the  opposite  shore,  farther  down,  at  the  mouth  of  the  river, 
lived  a  diver  for  pearls,  a  youth  who,  by  long  habit  hi  his  trade, 
was  almost  grown  amphibious ;  so  that  he  could  remain  whole  hours 
at  the  bottom  of  the  water,  without  ever  fetching  breath.  He  hap- 
pened to  be  at  that  very  instant  diving  when  the  ladies  were  fishing 
with  the  gilded  hook.  Seeing  therefore  the  bait,  which  to  him  had 

485 


CITIZEN   OF   THE   WORLD 

the  appearance  of  real  gold,  he  was  resolved  to  seize  the  prize, 
but  both  his  hands  being  already  filled  with  pearl  oysters,  he  found 
himself  obliged  to  snap  at  it  with  his  mouth.  The  consequence  is 
easily  imagined;  the  hook,  before  unperceived,  was  instantly 
fastened  in  his  jaw,  nor  could  he,  with  all  his  efforts,  or  his  flounder- 
ing, get  free. 

"Sister,"  cries  the  youngest  Princess,  "I  have  certainly  caught 
a  monstrous  fish;  I  never  perceived  any  thing  struggle  so  at  the 
end  of  my  line  before;  come  and  help  me  to  draw  it  in."  They 
both  now,  therefore,  assisted  in  fishing  up  the  diver  on  shore;  but 
nothing  could  equal  their  surprise  on  seeing  him.  "  Bless  my  eyes ! " 
cries  the  prude,  "  what  have  we  got  here  ?  this  is  a  very  odd  fish  to  be 
sure;  I  never  saw  anything  in  my  life  look  so  queer:  what  eyes, 
what  terrible  claws,  what  a  monstrous  snout!  I  have  read  of  this 
monster  somewhere  before  —  it  certainly  must  be  a  tanlang,  that 
eats  women ;  let  us  throw  it  back  again  into  the  sea  where  we  found 
it." 

The  diver,  in  the  meantime,  stood  upon  the  beach  at  the  end  of 
the  line,  with  the  hook  in  his  mouth,  using  every  art  that  he  thought 
could  best  excite  pity,  and  particularly  looking  extremely  tender, 
which  is  usual  in  such  circumstances.  The  coquette,  therefore,  In 
some  measure  influenced  by  the  innocence  of  his  looks,  ventured  to 
contradict  her  companion.  "Upon  my  word,  sister,"  says  she,  "I 
see  nothing  in  the  animal  so  very  terrible  as  you  are  pleased  to  appre- 
hend; I  think  it  may  serve  well  enough  for  a  change.  Always 
sharks,  and  sturgeons,  and  lobsters,  and  crawfish,  make  me  quite 
sick.  I  fancy  a  slice  of  this,  nicely  grilled,  and  dressed  up  with 
shrimp  sauce,  would  be  very  pretty  eating.  I  fancy  mamma  would 
like  a  bit  with  pickles  above  all  things  hi  the  world;  and  if  it  should 
not  sit  easy  on  her  stomach,  it  will  be  time  enough  to  discontinue 
it  when  found  disagreeable,  you  know."  —  "Horrid!"  cries  the 
prude,  "would  the  girl  be  poisoned?  I  tell  you  it  is  a  tanlang;  I 
have  read  of  it  in  twenty  places.  It  is  everywhere  described  as 
being  the  most  pernicious  animal  that  ever  infested  the  ocean.  I  am 
certain  it  is  the  most  insidious  ravenous  creature  in  the  world,  and 
is  certain  destruction  if  taken  internally."  The  youngest  sister 
was  now  therefore  obliged  to  submit:  both  assisted  in  drawing  the 
hook  with  some  violence  from  the  diver's  jaw ;  and  he,  finding  him- 
self at  liberty,  beat  his  breast  against  the  broad  wave,  and  disap- 
peared in  an  instant. 

486 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

Just  at  this  juncture  the  mother  came  down  to  the  beach, 
to  know  the  cause  of  her  daughters'  delay;  they  told  her  every  cir- 
cumstance, describing  the  monster  they  had  caught.  The  old 
lady  was  one  of  the  most  discreet  women  in  the  world;  she  was 
called  the  Black -eyed  Princess,  from  two  black  eyes  she  had  received 
in  her  youth,  being  a  little  addicted  to  boxing  in  her  liquor.  "  Alas, 
my  children,"  cries  she,  "what  have  you  done!  the  fish  you  caught 
was  a  man-fish;  one  of  the  most  tame  domestic  animals  in  the 
world.  We  could  have  let  him  run  and  play  about  the  garden,  and 
he  would  have  been  twenty  times  more  entertaining  than  our 
squirrel  or  monkey."  —  "If  that  be  all,"  says  the  young  coquette, 
"we  will  fish  for  him  again.  If  that  be  all,  I'll  hold  three  toothpicks 
to  one  pound  of  snuff,  I  catch  him  whenever  I  please."  Accordingly 
they  threw  in  their  line  once  more ;  but  with  all  their  gilding,  and 
paddling,  and  assiduity,  they  could  never  after  catch  the  diver.  In 
this  state  of  solitude  and  disappointment,  they  continued  for  many 
years,  still  fishing,  but  without  success;  till  at  last  the  Genius  of 
the  place,  in  pity  to  their  distresses,  changed  the  prude  into  a 
shrimp,  and  the  coquette  into  an  oyster.  Adieu. 


LETTER  XC 

To  the  Same 

THE  ENGLISH  SUBJECT  TO  THE   SPLEEN 

WHEN  the  men  of  this  country  are  once  turned  of  thirty  they 
regularly  retire  every  year,  at  proper  intervals,  to  lie  in  of 
the  spleen.  The  vulgar,  unfurnished  with  the  luxurious  comforts 
of  the  soft  cushion,  down  bed,  and  easy  chair,  are  obliged,  when  the 
fit  is  on  them,  to  nurse  it  up  by  drinking,  idleness,  and  ill-humour. 
In  such  dispositions,  unhappy  is  the  foreigner  who  happens  to  cross 
them;  his  long  chin,  tarnished  coat,  or  pinched  hat,  are  sure  to 
receive  no  quarter.  If  they  meet  no  foreigner,  however,  to  fight 
with,  they  are,  in  such  cases,  generally  content  with  beating  each 
other. 

The  rich,  as  they  have  more  sensibility,  are  operated  upon  with 
greater  violence  by  this  disorder.  Different  from  the  poor,  instead 
of  becoming  more  insolent,  they  grow  totally  unfit  for  opposition. 
A  general  here,  who  would  have  faced  a  culverin  when  well,  if  the 

487 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

fit  be  on  him,  shall  hardly  find  courage  to  snuff  a  candle.  An 
admiral,  who  could  have  opposed  a  broadside  without  shrinking, 
shall  sit  whole  days  in  his  chamber,  mobbed  up  in  double  nightcaps, 
shuddering  at  the  intrusive  breeze,  and  distinguishable  from  his  wife 
only  by  his  black  beard  and  heavy  eyebrows. 

In  the  country,  this  disorder  mostly  attacks  the  fair  sex;  in  town, 
it  is  most  unfavourable  to  the  men.  A  lady,  who  has  pined  whole 
years  amidst  cooing  doves  and  complaining  nightingales,  in  rural 
retirement,  shall  resume  all  her  vivacity  in  one  night  at  a  city 
gaming-table;  her  husband,  who  roared,  hunted,  and  got  drunk  at 
home,  shall  grow  splenetic  in  town  in  proportion  to  his  wife's  good 
humour.  Upon  their  arrival  in  London,  they  exchange  their  dis- 
orders. In  consequence  of  her  parties  and  excursions,  he  puts 
on  the  furred  cap  and  scarlet  stomacher,  and  perfectly  resembles 
an  Indian  husband,  who,  when  his  wife  is  safely  delivered,  permits 
her  to  transact  business  abroad,  while  he  undergoes  all  the  formality 
of  keeping  his  bed,  and  receiving  all  the  condolence  in  her  place. 

But  those  who  reside  constantly  in  town,  owe  this  disorder  mostly 
to  the  influence  of  the  weather.  It  is  impossible  to  describe  what  a 
variety  of  transmutations  an  east  wind  shall  produce;  it  has  been 
known  to  change  a  lady  of  fashion  into  a  parlour  couch ;  an  alderman 
into  a  plate  of  custard;  and  a  dispenser  of  justice  into  a  rat-trap. 
Even  philosophers  themselves  are  not  exempt  from  its  influence; 
it  has  often  converted  a  poet  into  a  coral  and  bells,  and  a  patriot 
senator  into  a  dumb  waiter. 

Some  days  ago  I  went  to  visit  the  man  in  black,  and  entered  his 
house  with  that  cheerfulness  which  the  certainty  of  a  favourable 
reception  always  inspires.  Upon  opening  the  door  of  his  apart- 
ment, I  found  him  with  the  most  rueful  face  imaginable,  in  a  morn- 
ing gown  and  flannel  nightcap,  earnestly  employed  in  learning  to 
blow  the  German  flute.  Struck  with  the  absurdity  of  a  man  in  the 
decline  of  life  thus  blowing  away  all  his  constitution  and  spirits, 
even  without  the  consolation  of  being  musical,  I  ventured  to  ask 
what  could  induce  him  to  attempt  learning  so  difficult  an  instrument 
so  late  in  life  ?  To  this  he  made  no  reply,  but  groaning,  and  still 
holding  the  flute  to  his  lips,  continued  to  gaze  at  me  for  some  mo- 
ments very  angrily,  and  then  proceeded  to  practise  his  gamut  aS 
before.  After  having  produced  a  variety  of  the  most  hideous  tones 
in  nature,  at  last  turning  to  me,  he  demanded,  whether  I  did  not 
think  he  had  made  a  surprising  progress  in  two  days?  "You  see/' 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

continues  he, "  I  have  got  theambusheer  already ;  and  as  forfingering, 
my  master  tells  me,  I  shall  have  that  in  a  few  lessons  more."  I  was 
so  much  astonished  with  this  instance  of  inverted  ambition,  that  I 
knew  not  what  to  reply,  but  soon  discerned  the  cause  of  all  his 
absurdities:  my  friend  was  under  a  metamorphosis  by  the  power  of 
spleen,  and  flute-blowing  was  unluckily  become  his  adventitious 
passion. 

In  order,  therefore,  to  banish  his  anxiety  imperceptibly,  by  seem- 
ing to  indulge  it,  I  began  to  descant  on  those  gloomy  topics  by 
which  philosophers  often  get  rid  of  their  own  spleen,  by  communi- 
cating it:  the  wretchedness  of  a  man  in  this  life;  the  happiness  of 
some  wrought  out  of  the  miseries  of  others;  the  necessity  that 
wretches  should  expire  under  punishment,  that  rogues  might  enjoy 
affluence  in  tranquillity:  I  led  him  on  from  the  inhumanity  of  the 
rich  to  the  ingratitude  of  the  beggar;  from  the  insincerity  of  refine- 
ment to  the  fierceness  of  rusticity ;  and  at  last  had  the  good  fortune 
to  restore  him  to  his  usual  serenity  of  temper,  by  permitting  him  to 
expatiate  upon  all  the  modes  of  human  misery. 

"Some  nights  ago,"  says  my  friend,  "sitting  alone  by  my  fire, 
I  happened  to  look  into  an  account  of  the  detection  of  a  set  of  men 
called  the  thief-takers.  I  read  over  the  many  hideous  cruelties  of 
those  haters  of  mankind,  of  their  pretended  friendship  to  wretches 
they  meant  to  betray,  of  their  sending  men  out  to  rob,  and  then 
hanging  them.  I  could  not  avoid  sometimes  interrupting  the  narra- 
tive, by  crying  out,  'Yet  these  are  men!'  As  I  went  on,  I  was 
informed  that  they  had  lived  by  this  practice  several  years,  and  had 
been  enriched  by  the  price  of  blood: '  And  yet,'  cried  I, '  I  have  been 
sent  into  this  world,  and  am  desired  to  call  these  men  my  brothers!' 
I  read,  that  the  very  man  who  led  the  condemned  wretch  to  the 
gallows,  was  he  who  falsely  swore  his  life  away;  'and  yet,'  continued 
I,  'that  perjurer  had  just  such  a  nose,  such  lips,  such  hands,  and 
such  eyes,  as  Newton ! '  I  at  last  came  to  the  account  of  the  wretch 
that  was  searched  after  robbing  one  of  the  thief-takers  of  half-a- 
crown.  Those  of  the  confederacy  knew  that  he  had  got  but  that 
single  half-crown  in  the  world;  after  a  long  search,  therefore,  which 
they  knew  would  be  fruitless,  and  taking  from  him  the  half-crown, 
which  they  knew  was  all  he  had,  one  of  the  gang  compassionately 
cried  out,  'Alas!  poor  creature,  let  him  keep  all  the  rest  he  has  got, 
it  will  do  him  service  in  Newgate,  where  we  are  sending  him.'  This 
was  an  instance  of  such  complicated  guilt  and  hypocrisy,  that  I 

489 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

threw  down  the  book  in  an  agony  of  rage,  and  began  to  think  with 
malice  of  all  the  human  kind.  I  sat  silent  for  some  minutes,  and 
soon  perceiving  the  ticking  of  my  watch  beginning  to  grow  noisy 
and  troublesome,  I  quickly  placed  it  out  of  hearing,  and  strove  to 
resume  my  serenity.  But  the  watchmen  soon  gave  me  a  second 
alarm.  I  had  scarcely  recovered  from  this,  when  my  peace  was 
assaulted  by  the  wind  at  my  window ;  and  when  that  ceased  to  blow, 
I  listened  for  death-watches  in  the  wainscot.  I  now  found  my 
whole  system  discomposed.  I  strove  to  find  a  resource  in  philos- 
ophy and  reason;  but  what  could  I  oppose,  or  where  direct  my 
blow,  when  I  could  see  no  enemy  to  combat?  I  saw  no  misery 
approaching,  nor  knew  any  I  had  to  fear,  yet  still  I  was  miserable. 
Morning  came,  I  sought  for  tranquillity  in  dissipation,  sauntered 
from  one  place  of  public  resort  to  another,  but  found  myself  dis- 
agreeable to  my  acquaintance,  and  ridiculous  to  others.  I  tried 
at  different  times  dancing,  fencing,  and  riding;  I  solved  geometrical 
problems,  shaped  tobacco-stoppers,  wrote  verses,  and  cut  paper. 
At  last  I  placed  my  affections  on  music,  and  find,  that  earnest  em- 
ployment, if  it  cannot  cure,  at  least  will  palliate  every  anxiety." 
Adieu 

LETTER  XCI 

To  the  Same 

THE  INFLUENCE  OF  CLIMATE  AND  SOIL  UPON  THE  TEMPERS  AND  DIS- 
POSITIONS OF  THE  ENGLISH.      [THE  ENGLISH-MAN] 

IT  is  no  unpleasing  contemplation,  to  consider  the  influence 
which  soil  and  climate  have  upon  the  disposition  of  the  inhabi- 
tants, the  animals,  and  vegetables,  of  different  countries.  That 
among  the  brute  creation  is  much  more  visible  than  in  man,  and 
that  in  vegetables  more  than  either.  In  some  places,  those  plants 
which  are  entirely  poisonous  at  home  lose  their  deleterious  quality 
by  being  carried  abroad:  there  are  serpents  in  Macedonia  so  harm- 
less as  to  be  used  as  playthings  for  children ;  and  we  are  told,  that 
in  some  parts  of  Fez,  there  are  lions  so  very  timorous  as  to  be  scared, 
though  coming  in  herds,  by  the  cries  of  women. 

I  know  of  no  country  where  the  influence  of  climate  and  soil  is 
more  visible  than  in  England;  the  same  hidden  cause  which  gives 
courage  to  their  dogs  and  cocks,  gives  also  a  fierceness  to  their  men. 

49° 


CITIZEN   OF   THE   WORLD 

But  chiefly  this  ferocity  appears  among  the  vulgar.  The  polite  of 
every  country  pretty  nearly  resemble  each  other.  But,  as  in  sim- 
pling,  it  is  among  the  uncultivated  productions  of  nature  we  are  to 
examine  the  characteristic  differences  of  climate  and  soil,  so  in  an 
estimate  of  the  genius  of  the  people,  we  must  look  among  the  sons 
of  unpolished  rusticity.  The  vulgar  English,  therefore,  may  be 
easily  distinguished  from  all  the  rest  of  the  world,  by  superior  pride, 
impatience,  and  a  peculiar  hardiness  of  soul. 

Perhaps  no  qualities  in  the  world  are  more  susceptible  of  a  finer 
polish  than  these;  artificial  complaisance,  and  easy  deference,  being 
superinduced  over  these,  generally  forms  a  great  character;  some- 
thing at  once  elegant  and  majestic,  affable,  yet  sincere.  Such,  in 
general,  are  the  better  sort;  but  they  who  are  left  in  primitive  rude- 
ness, are  the  least  disposed  for  society  with  others,  or  comfort  inter- 
nally, of  any  people  under  the  sun. 

The  poor,  indeed,  of  every  country,  are  but  little  prone  to  treat 
each  other  with  tenderness ;  their  own  miseries  are  too  apt  to  engross 
all  their  pity;  and  perhaps,  too,  they  give  but  little  commiseration, 
as  they  find  but  little  from  others.  But,  in  England,  the  poor  treat 
each  other  upon  every  occasion  with  more  than  savage  animosity, 
and  as  if  they  were  hi  a  state  of  open  war  by  nature.  In  China, 
if  two  porters  should  meet  in  a  narrow  street,  they  would  lay  down 
their  burthens,  make  a  thousand  excuses  to  each  other  for  the  acci- 
dental interruption,  and  beg  pardon  on  their  knees;  if  two  men  of 
the  same  occupation  should  meet  here,  they  would  first  begin  to 
scold,  and  at  last  to  beat  each  other.  One  would  think  they  had 
miseries  enough  resulting  from  penury  and  labour,  not  to  increase 
them  by  ill-nature  among  themselves,  and  subjection  to  new  penal- 
ties; but  such  considerations  never  weigh  with  them. 

But  to  recompense  this  strange  absurdity,  they  are  in  the  main 
generous,  brave,  and  enterprising.  They  feel  the  slightest  injuries 
with  a  degree  of  ungoverned  impatience,  but  resist  the  greatest 
calamities  with  surprising  fortitude.  Those  miseries  under  which 
any  other  people  in  the  world  would  sink,  they  have  often  showed 
they  were  capable  of  enduring ;  if  accidentally  cast  upon  some  deso- 
late coast,  their  perseverance  is  beyond  what  any  other  nation  is 
capable  of  sustaining;  if  imprisoned  for  crimes,  their  efforts  to 
escape  are  greater  than  among  others.  The  peculiar  strength  of 
their  prisons,  when  compared  to  those  elsewhere,  argues  their  hardi- 
ness; even  the  strongest  prisons  I  have  ever  seen  in  other  countries, 

491 


CITIZEN   OF   THE   WORLD 

would  be  very  Insufficient  to  confine  the  untameable  spirit  of  an 
Englishman.  In  short,  what  man  dares  do  in  circumstances  of 
danger,  an  Englishman  will.  His  virtues  seem  to  sleep  in  the  calm, 
and  are  called  out  only  to  combat  the  kindred  storm. 

But  the  greatest  eulogy  of  this  people  is  the  generosity  of  their 
miscreants;  the  tenderness,  in  general,  of  their  robbers  and  high- 
waymen. Perhaps  no  people  can  produce  instances  of  the  same 
kind,  where  the  desperate  mix  pity  with  injustice;  still  show  that 
they  understand  a  distinction  in  crimes,  and,  even  in  acts  of  vio- 
lence, have  still  some  tincture  of  remaining  virtue.  In  every  other 
country,  robbery  and  murder  go  almost  always  together;  here,  it 
seldom  happens,  except  upon  ill-judged  resistance  or  pursuit.  The 
banditti  of  other  countries  are  unmerciful  to  a  supreme  degree; 
the  highwayman  and  robber  here  are  generous,  at  least,  in  their 
intercourse  among  each  other.  Taking,  therefore,  my  opinion  of 
the  English  from  the  virtues  and  vices  practised  among  the  vulgar, 
they  at  once  present  to  a  stranger  all  their  faults,  and  keep  their 
virtues  up  only  for  the  enquiring  eye  of  a  philosopher. 

Foreigners  are  generally  shocked  at  their  insolence  upon  first 
coming  among  them:  they  find  themselves  ridiculed  and  insulted 
in  every  street;  they  meet  with  none  of  those  trifling  civilities,  so 
frequent  elsewhere,  which  are  instances  of  mutual  good-will,  with- 
out previous  acquaintance;  they  travel  through  the  country,  either 
too  ignorant  or  too  obstinate  to  cultivate  a  closer  acquaintance ;  meet 
every  moment  something  to  excite  their  disgust,  and  return  home 
to  characterize  this  as  the  region  of  spleen,  insolence,  and  ill-nature. 
In  short,  England  would  be  the  last  place  in  the  world  I  would 
travel  to  by  way  of  amusement,  but  the  first  for  instruction.  I 
would  choose  to  have  others  for  my  acquaintance,  but  Englishmen 
for  my  friends. 

LETTER    XCVI 
To  the  Same 

THE  CONDOLENCE  AND  CONGRATULATION  UPON  THE  DEATH  OF  THE 
LATE  KING  RIDICULED.      ENGLISH  MOURNING  DESCRIBED 

THE  manner  of  grieving  for  our  departed  friends  in  China,  is 
very  different  from  that  of  Europe.     The  mourning  color  of 
Europe  is  black;  that  of  China  white.     When  a  parent  or  relation 
dies  here  —  for  they  seldom  mourn  for  friends  —  it  is  only  clap- 

492 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

ping  on  a  suit  of  sables,  grimacing  it  for  a  few  days,  and  all,  soon 
forgotten,  goes  on  as  before;  not  a  single  creature  missing  the  de- 
ceased, except,  perhaps  a  favourite  housekeeper,  or  a  favourite  cat. 

On  the  contrary,  with  us  in  China  it  is  a  very  serious  affair.  The 
piety  with  which  I  have  seen  you  behave,  on  one  of  these  occasions, 
should  never  be  forgotten.  I  remember  it  was  upon  the  death  of 
thy  grandmother's  maiden  sister.  The  coffin  was  exposed  in  the 
principal  hall,  in  public  view.  Before  it  were  placed  the  figures  of 
eunuchs,  horses,  tortoises,  and  other  animals,  in  attitudes  of  grief 
and  respect.  The  more  distant  relations  of  the  old  lady,  and  I 
among  the  number,  came  to  pay  our  compliments  of  condolence, 
and  to  salute  the  deceased,  after  fhe  manner  of  our  country.  We 
had  scarce  presented  our  wax  candles  and  perfumes,  and  given  the 
howl  of  departure,  when,  crawling  on  his  belly  from  under  a  cur- 
tain, out  came  the  reverend  Fum  Hoam  himself,  in  all  the  dismal 
solemnity  of  distress.  Your  looks  were  set  for  sorrow ;  your  cloth- 
ing consisted  of  a  hempen  bag  tied  round  the  neck  with  a  string. 
For  two  long  months  did  this  mourning  continue.  By  night,  you 
lay  stretched  on  a  single  mat,  and  sat  on  the  stool  of  discontent  by 
day.  Pious  man !  who  could  thus  set  an  example  of  sorrow  and  de- 
corum to  our  country.  Pious  country!  where,  if  we  do  not  grieve 
at  the  departure  of  our  friends  for  their  sakes,  at  least  we  are  taught 
to  regret  them  for  our  own. 

All  is  very  different  here;  amazement  all!  What  sort  of  people 
am  I  got  amongst?  Fum,  thou  son  of  Fo,  what  sort  of  people  am 
I  got  amongst?  No  crawling  round  the  coffin;  no  dressing  up  in 
hempen  bags;  no  lying  on  mats,  or  sitting  on  stools!  Gentlemen 
here  shall  put  on  first  mourning,  with  as  sprightly  an  air  as  if  pre- 
paring for  a  birth-night;  and  widows  shall  actually  dress  for  an- 
other husband  in  their  weeds  for  the  former.  The  best  jest  of  all 
is,  that  our  merry  mourners  clap  bits  of  muslin  on  their  sleeves,  and 
these  are  called  weepers.  Weeping  muslin !  alas !  alas !  very  sor- 
rowful truly!  These  weepers,  then,  it  seems,  are  to  bear  the  whole 
burthen  of  the  distress. 

But  I  have  had  the  strongest  instance  of  this  contrast,  this  tragi- 
comical behaviour  in  distress,  upon  a  recent  occasion.  Their  king, 
whose  departure,  though  sudden,  was  not  unexpected,  died  after  a 
reign  of  many  years.  His  age,  and  uncertain  state  of  health,  served, 
in  some  measure,  to  diminish  the  sorrow  of  his  subjects;  and  their 
expectations  from  his  successor  seemed  to  balance  their  minds  be- 

493 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

tween  uneasiness  and  satisfaction.  But  how  ought  they  to  have 
behaved  on  such  an  occasion?  Surely,  they  ought  rather  to  have 
endeavoured  to  testify  their  gratitude  to  their  deceased  friend,  than 
to  proclaim  their  hopes  of  the  future!  Sure,  even  the  successor 
must  suppose  their  love  to  wear  the  face  of  adulation,  which  so 
quickly  changed  the  object !  However,  the  very  same  day  on  which 
the  old  king  died,  they  made  rejoicing  for  the  new ! 

For  my  part,  I  have  no  conception  of  this  new  manner  of  mourn- 
ing and  rejoicing  in  a  breath;  of  being  merry  and  sad;  of  mixing 
a  funeral  procession  with  a  jig  and  a  bonfire.  At  least,  it  would 
have  been  just,  that  they  who  flattered  the  king,  while  living,  for 
virtues  which  he  had  not,  should  lament  him  dead,  for  those  he 
really  had. 

In  this  universal  cause  for  national  distress,  as  I  had  no  interest 
myself,  so  it  is  but  natural  to  suppose  I  felt  no  real  affliction.  "  In 
all  the  losses  of  our  friends,"  says"  a  European  philosopher,  "we 
first  consider  how  much  our  own  welfare  is  affected  by  their  depar- 
ture, and  moderate  our  real  grief,  just  in  the  same  proportion." 
Now,  as  I  had  neither  received,  nor  expected  to  receive,  favours  from 
kings  or  their  flatterers;  as  I  had  no  acquaintance  in  particular  with 
their  late  monarch;  as  I  knew  that  the  place  of  a  king  is  soon 
supplied;  and,  as  the  Chinese  proverb  has  it,  that  though  the  world 
may  sometimes  want  cobblers  to  mend  their  shoes,  there  is  no 
danger  of  its  wanting  emperors  to  rule  their  kingdoms;  from  such 
considerations,  I  could  bear  the  loss  of  a  king  with  the  most  philoso- 
phic resignation.  However,  I  thought  it  my  duty  at  least  to  appear 
sorrowful ;  to  put  on  a  melancholy  aspect,  or  to  set  my  face  by  that 
of  the  people. 

The  first  company  I  came  amongst,  after  the  news  became  general, 
was  a  set  of  jolly  companions,  who  were  drinking  prosperity  to  the 
ensuing  reign.  I  entered  the  room  with  looks  of  despair,  and  even 
expected  applause  for  the  superlative  misery  of  my  countenance. 
Instead  of  that,  I  was  universally  condemned  by  the  company  for  a 
grimacing  son  of  a  whore,  and  desired  to  take  away  my  penitential 
phiz  to  some  other  quarter.  I  now  corrected  my  former  mistake, 
and,  with  the  most  sprightly  air  imaginable,  entered  a  company, 
where  they  were  talking  over  the  ceremonies  of  the  approaching 
funeral.  Here  I  sat  for  some  time  with  an  air  of  pert  vivacity, 
when  one  of  the  chief  mourners  immediately  observing  my  good 
humour,  desired  me,  if  I  pleased,  to  go  and  grin  somewhere  else; 

494 


CITIZEN    OF    THE   WORLD 

they  wanted  no  disaffected  scoundrels  there.  Leaving  this  company, 
therefore,  I  was  resolved  to  assume  a  look  perfectly  neutral:  and 
have  ever  since  been  studying  the  fashionable  air;  something 
between  jest  and  earnest;  a  complete  virginity  of  face,  uncontam- 
inated  with  the  smallest  symptom  of  meaning. 

But  though  grief  be  a  very  slight  affair  here,  the  mourning,  my 
friend,  is  a  very  important  concern.  When  an  emperor  dies  in 
China,  the  whole  expense  of  the  solemnities  is  defrayed  from  the 
royal  coffers.  When  the  great  die  here,  mandarines  are  ready 
enough  to  order  mourning;  but  I  do  not  see  that  they  are  so  ready 
to  pay  for  it.  If  they  send  me  down  from  court  the  grey  undress 
frock,  or  the  black  coat  without  pocket-holes,  I  am  willing  enough 
to  comply  with  their  commands,  and  wear  both;  but,  by  the  head 
of  Confucius!  to  be  obliged  to  wear  black,  and  buy  it  into  the 
bargain,  is  more  than  my  tranquillity  of  temper  can  bear.  What! 
order  me  to  wear  mourning  before  they  know  whether  I  can  buy  it 
or  no !  Fum,  thou  son  of  Fo,  what  sort  of  a  people  am  I  got  amongst  ? 
where  being  out  of  black  is  a  certain  symptom  of  poverty;  where 
those  who  have  miserable  faces  cannot  have  mourning,  and  those 
who  have  mourning  will  not  wear  a  miserable  face !  [Adieu.] 


LETTER  XCVIII 
To  the  Same 

A  DESCRIPTION  OF  THE  COURTS  OF  JUSTICE  IN  WESTMINSTER  HALL 

I  HAD  some  intentions  lately  of  going  to  visit  Bedlam,  the  place 
where  those  who  go  mad  are  confined.  I  went  to  wait  upon 
the  man  in  black  to  be  my  conductor,  but  I  found  him  preparing  to 
go  to  Westminster-hall,  where  the  English  hold  their  courts  of  justice. 
It  gave  me  some  surprise  to  find  my  friend  engaged  in  a  law-suit, 
but  more  so  when  he  informed  me  that  it  had  been  depending  for 
several  years.  "  How  is  it  possible,"  cried  I,  "  for  a  man  who  knows 
the  world  to  go  to  law  ?  I  am  well  acquainted  with  the  courts  of 
justice  in  China:  they  resemble  rat-traps  every  one  of  them;  nothing 
more  easy  than  to  get  in,  but  to  get  out  again  is  attended  with 
some  difficulty,  and  more  cunning  than  rats  are  generally  found  to 
possess  1 " 

"  Faith, "replied  my  friend, "  I  should  not  have  gone  to  law  but  that 
I  was  assured  of  success  before  I  began ;  things  were  presented  to  me 

495 


CITIZEN    OF   THE    WORLD 

in  so  alluring  a  light,  that  I  thought  by  barely  declaring  myself  a 
candidate  for  the  prize,  I  had  nothing  more  to  do  but  to  enjoy  the 
fruits  of  the  victory.  Thus  have  I  been  upon  the  eve  of  an  imaginary 
triumph  every  term  these  ten  years;  have  travelled  forward  with 
victory  ever  in  my  view,  but  ever  out  of  reach;  however,  at  present, 
I  fancy  we  have  hampered  our  antagonist  in  such  a  manner,  that, 
without  some  unforeseen  demur,  we  shall  this  very  day  lay  him 
fairly  on  his  back." 

"  If  things  be  so  situated,"  said  I,  "  I  do  not  care  if  I  attend  you 
to  the  courts,  and  partake  in  the  pleasure  of  your  success.  But 
prithee,"  continued  I,  as  we  set  forward,  "what  reasons  have  you 
to  think  an  affair  at  last  concluded,  which  has  given  you  so  many 
former  disappointments?"  —  "My  lawyer  tells  me,"  returned  he, 
"that  I  have  Salkeld  and  Ventris  strong  in  my  favour,  and  that 
there  are  no  less  than  fifteen  cases  in  point."  —  "I  understand," 
said  I,  "those  are  two  of  your  judges  who  have  already  declared 
their  opinions."  —  "Pardon  me,"  replied  my  friend,  "Salkeld  and 
Ventris  are  lawyers  who  some  hundred  years  ago  gave  their  opinions 
on  cases  similar  to  mine;  these  opinions,  which  make  for  me,  my 
lawyer  is  to  cite;  and  those  opinions  which  look  another  way  are 
cited  by  the  lawyer  employed  by  my  antagonist:  as  I  observed,  I 
have  Salkeld  and  Ventris  for  me;  he  has  Coke  and  Hales  for  him; 
and  he  that  has  most  opinions  is  most  likely  to  carry  his  cause." 
—  "But  where  is  the  necessity,"  cried  I,  "of  prolonging  a  suit  by 
citing  the  opinions  and  reports  of  others,  since  the  same  good  sense 
which  determined  lawyers  in  former  ages,  may  serve  to  guide  your 
judges  at  this  day?  They  at  that  time  gave  their  opinions  only 
from  the  light  of  reason ;  your  judges  have  the  same  light  at  present 
to  direct  them;  let  me  even  add,  a  greater,  as  in  former  ages  there 
were  many  prejudices  from  which  the  present  is  happily  free.  If 
arguing  from  authorities  be  exploded  from  every  other  branch  of 
learning,  why  should  it  be  particularly  adhered  to  in  this?  I 
plainly  foresee  how  such  a  method  of  investigation  must  embarrass 
every  suit,  and  even  perplex  the  student;  ceremonies  will  be  multi- 
plied, formalities  must  increase,  and  more  time  will  thus  be  spent  in 
learning  the  arts  of  litigation,  than  in  the  discovery  of  right." 

"I  see,"  cries  my  friend,  "that  you  are  for  a  speedy  administra- 
tion of  justice ;  but  all  the  world  will  grant,  that  the  more  time  that  is 
taken  up  in  considering  any  subject,  the  better  it  will  be  understood. 
Besides,  it  is  the  boast  of  an  Englishman,  that  his  property  is  secure, 

496 


CITIZEN    OF    THE   WORLD 

and  all  the  world  will  grant,  that  a  deliberate  administration  of  jus- 
tice is  the  best  way  to  secure  his  property.  Why  have  we  so  many 
lawyers,  but  to  secure  our  property  ?  why  so  many  formalities,  but  to 
secure  our  property  ?  Not  less  than  one  hundred  thousand  families 
live  in  opulence,  elegance,  and  ease,  merely  by  securing  our  property." 

"To  embarrass  justice,"  returned  I,  "by  a  multiplicity  of  laws, 
or  to  hazard  it  by  a  confidence  in  our  judges,  are,  I  grant,  the  oppo- 
site rocks  on  which  legislative  wisdom  has  ever  split:  in  one  case,  the 
client  resembles  that  emperor,  who  is  said  to  have  been  suffocated 
with  the  bed-clothes  which  were  only  designed  to  keep  him  warm; 
in  the  other,  to  that  town  which  let  the  enemy  take  possession  of  its 
walls,  in  order  to  show  the  world.how  little  they  depended  upon  aught 
but  courage  for  safety.  —  But,  bless  me !  what  numbers  do  I  see 
here  —  all  in  black!  —  how  is  it  possible  that  half  this  multitude 
can  find  employment?"  —  "Nothing  so  easily  conceived,"  returned 
my  companion;  "they  live  by  watching  each  other.  For  instance, 
the  catchpole  watches  the  man  in  debt,  the  attorney  watches  the 
catchpole,  the  counsellor  watches  the  attorney,  the  solicitor  the 
counsellor,  and  all  find  sufficient  employment."  —  "I  conceive  you," 
interrupted  I,  "  they  watch  each  other,  but  it  is  the  client  that  pays 
them  all  for  watching;  it  puts  me  in  mind  of  a  Chinese  fable,  which 
is  entitled,  FIVE  ANIMALS  AT  A  MEAL.  — 

"A  grasshopper,  filled  with  dew,  was  merrily  singing  under  a 
shade;  a  whangam,  that  eats  grasshoppers,  had  marked  it  for  its 
prey,  and  was  just  stretching  forth  to  devour  it;  a  serpent,  that  had 
for  a  long  time  fed  only  on  whangams,  was  coiled  up  to  fasten  on 
the  whangam;  a  yellow  bird  was  just  upon  the  wing  to  dart  upon 
the  serpent;  a  hawk  had  just  stooped  from  above  to  seize  the  yel- 
low bird;  all  were  intent  on  their  prey,  and  unmindful  of  their  dan- 
ger: so  the  whangam  ate  the  grasshopper,  the  serpent  ate  the  whan- 
gam, the  yellow  bird  the  serpent,  and  the  hawk  the  yellow  bird; 
when,  sousing  from  on  high,  a  vulture  gobbled  up  the  hawk,  grass- 
hopper, whangam,  and  all  in  a  moment." 

I  had  scarce  finished  my  fable,  when  the  lawyer  came  to  inform 
my  friend,  that  his  cause  was  put  off  till  another  term,  that  money 
was  wanted  to  retain,  and  that  all  the  world  was  of  opinion,  that 
the  very  next  hearing  would  bring  him  off  victorious.  "If  so,  then," 
cries  my  friend,  "I  believe  it  will  be  my  wisest  way  to  continue  the 
cause  for  another  term;  and,  in  the  meantime,  my  friend  here  and 
I  will  go  and  see  Bedlam."  Adieu. 

497 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

LETTER    XCIX 
To  the  Same 

A  VISIT  FROM  THE  LITTLE  BEAU.      THE  INDULGENCE  WITH  WHICH 
THE  FAIR  SEX  ARE  TREATED  IN  SEVERAL  PARTS  OF  ASIA 

I  LATELY  received  a  visit  from  the  little  beau,  who,  I  found, 
had  assumed  a  new  flow  of  spirits  with  a  new  suit  of  clothes. 
Our  discourse  happened  to  turn  upon  the  different  treatment  of 
the   fair  sex   here  and  in  Asia,  with  the  influence  of  beauty  in 
refining  our  manners,  and  improving  our  conversation. 

I  soon  perceived  he  was  strongly  prejudiced  in  favour  of  the  Asia- 
tic method  of  treating  the  sex,  and  that  it  was  impossible  to  persuade 
him,  but  that  a  man  was  happier  who  had  four  wives  at  his  com- 
mand, than  he  who  had  only  one.  "  It  is  true,"  cries  he,  "  your  men 
of  fashion  in  the  East  are  slaves,  and  under  some  terrors  of  having 
their  throats  squeezed  by  a  bow-string;  but  what  then?  they  can 
find  ample  consolation  in  a  seraglio;  they  make,  indeed,  an  indiffer- 
ent figure  in  conversation  abroad,  but  then  they  have  a  seraglio  to 
console  them  at  home.  I  am  told  they  have  no  balls,  drums,  nor 
operas,  but  then  they  have  got  a  seraglio;  they  may  be  deprived  of 
wine  and  French  cookery,  but  they  have  a  seraglio:  a  seraglio  — 
a  seraglio,  my  dear  creature,  wipes  off  every  inconvenience  in  the 
world! 

"  Besides,  I  am  told,  your  Asiatic  beauties  are  the  most  convenient 
women  alive ;  for  they  have  no  souls :  positively  there  is  nothing  in 
nature  I  should  like  so  much  as  ladies  without  souls;  soul,  here,  is 
the  utter  ruin  of  half  the  sex.  A  girl  of  eighteen  shall  have  soul 
enough  to  spend  a  hundred  pounds  in  the  turning  of  a  trump.  Her 
mother  shall  have  soul  enough  to  ride  a  sweepstake  match  at  a  horse- 
race; her  maiden  aunt  shall  have  soul  enough  to  purchase  the  fur- 
niture of  a  whole  toy-shop;  and  others  shall  have  soul  enough  to 
behave  as  if  they  had  no  souls  at  all." 

"With  respect  to  the  soul,"  interrupted  I,  "the  Asiatics  are  much 
kinder  to  the  fair  sex  than  you  imagine:  instead  of  one  soul,  Fohi, 
the  idol  of  China,  gives  every  woman  three;  the  Brahmins  give 
them  fifteen;  and  even  Mahomet  himself  nowhere  excludes  the  sex 
from  Paradise.  Abulfeda  reports,  that  an  old  woman  one  day  im- 
portuning him  to  know  what  she  ought  to  do  in  order  to  gain  Para- 
dise — '  My  good  lady,'  answered  the  prophet,  '  old  women  never 

498 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

get  there.'  —  'What!  never  get  to  Paradise?'  returned  the  matron, 
in  a  fury.  'Never,'  says  he,  'for  they  always  grow  young  by  the 
way.' 

"No,  Sir,"  continued  I;  "the  men  of  Asia  behave  with  more 
deference  to  the  sex  than  you  seem  to  imagine.  As  you  of  Europe 
say  grace  upon  sitting  down  to  dinner,  so  it  is  the  custom  in  China 
to  say  grace  when  a  man  goes  to  bed  to  his  wife."  —  "And  may  I 
die,"  returned  my  companion,  "but  a  very  pretty  ceremony!  for, 
seriously,  Sir,  I  see  no  reason  why  a  man  should  not  be  as  grateful  in 
one  situation  as  in  the  other.  Upon  honour,  I  always  find  myself 
much  more  disposed  to  gratitude  on  the  couch  of  a  fine  woman, 
than  upon  sitting  down  to  a  sirloin  of  beef." 

"Another  ceremony,"  said  I,  resuming  the  conversation,  "in 
favour  of  the  sex,  amongst  us,  is  the  bride's  being  allowed,  after 
marriage,  her  three  days  oj  freedom.  During  this  interval,  a  thou- 
sand extravagances  are  practised  by  either  sex.  The  lady  is  placed 
upon  the  nuptial  bed,  and  numberless  monkey  tricks  are  played 
round  to  divert  her.  One  gentleman  smells  her  perfumed  hand- 
kerchief, another  attempts  to  untie  her  garters,  a  third  pulls  off  her 
shoe  to  play  hunt  the  slipper,  another  pretends  to  be  an  idiot,  and 
endeavours  to  raise  a  laugh  by  grimacing;  hi  the  meantime,  the 
glass  goes  briskly  about,  till  ladies,  gentlemen,  wife,  husband,  and 
all,  are  mixed  together  in  one  inundation  of  arrack  punch." 

"Strike  me  dumb,  deaf,  and  blind,"  cried  my  companion,  "but 
very  pretty!  there's  some  sense  in  your  Chinese  ladies'  condescen- 
sions !  but,  among  us,  you  shall  scarce  find  one  of  the  whole  sex  that 
shall  hold  her  good-humour  for  three  days  together.  No  later  than 
yesterday,  I  happened  to  say  some  civil  things  to  a  citizen's  wife  of 
my  acquaintance,  not  because  I  loved  her,  but  because  I  had  char- 
ity; and  what  do  you  think  was  the  tender  creature's  reply?  Only 
that  she  detested  my  pig-tail  wig,  high-heeled  shoes,  and  sallow 
complexion !  That  is  all.  Nothing  more !  —  Yes,  by  the  heavens, 
though  she  was  more  ugly  than  an  unpainted  actress,  I  found  her 
more  insolent  than  a  thorough  bred  woman  of  quality!" 

He  was  proceeding  in  this  wild  manner,  when  his  invective  was 
interrupted  by  the  man  in  black,  who  entered  the  apartment,  intro- 
ducing his  niece,  a  young  lady  of  exquisite  beauty.  Her  very  ap- 
pearance was  sufficient  to  silence  the  severest  satirist  of  the  sex; 
easy  without  pride,  and  free  without  impudence,  she  seemed  capa- 
ble of  supplying  every  sense  with  pleasure.  Her  looks,  her  conver- 

499 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

sation,  were  natural  and  unconstrained;  she  had  neither  been  taught 
to  languish  nor  ogle,  to  laugh  without  a  jest,  or  sigh  without  sorrow. 
I  found  that  she  had  just  returned  from  abroad,  and  had  been  con- 
versant in  the  manners  of  the  world.  Curiosity  prompted  me  to 
ask  several  questions,  but  she  declined  them  all.  I  own  I  never 
found  myself  so  strongly  prejudiced  in  favour  of  apparent  merit 
before,  and  could  willingly  have  prolonged  our  conversation,  but  the 
company  after  some  time  withdrew.  Just,  however,  before  the 
little  beau  took  his  leave,  he  called  me  aside,  and  requested  I  would 
change  him  a  twenty  pound  bill;  which,  as  I  was  incapable  of  doing, 
he  was  contented  with  borrowing  half-a-crown.  Adieu. 


LETTER  CII 
To  the  Same 

THE   PASSION   FOR   GAMING   AMONG   LADIES   RIDICULED 

THE  ladies  here  are  by  no  means  such  ardent  gamesters  as  the 
women  of  Asia.  In  this  respect  I  must  do  the  English  justice ; 
for  I  love  to  praise  where  applause  is  justly  merited.  Nothing  [is] 
more  common  in  China  than  to  see  two  women  of  fashion  continue 
gaming  till  one  has  won  all  the  other's  clothes,  and  stripped  her 
quite  naked;  the  winner  thus  marching  off  in  a  double  suit  of  finery, 
and  the  loser  shrinking  behind  in  the  primitive  simplicity  of  nature. 

No  doubt,  you  remember  when  Shang,  our  maiden  aunt,  played 
with  a  sharper.  First  her  money  went;  then  her  trinkets  were 
produced;  her  clothes  followed,  piece  by  piece,  soon  after;  when 
she  had  thus  played  herself  quite  naked,  being  a  woman  of  spirit, 
and  willing  to  pursue  her  own,  she  staked  her  teeth:  fortune  was 
against  her  even  here,  and  her  teeth  followed  her  clothes.  At  last 
she  played  for  her  left  eye;  and,  oh!  hard  fate,  this  too  she  lost: 
however,  she  had  the  consolation  of  biting  the  sharper,  for  he  never 
perceived  that  it  was  made  of  glass  till  it  became  his  own. 

How  happy,  my  friend,  are  the  English  ladies,  who  never  rise  to 
such  an  inordinance  of  passion !  Though  the  sex  here  are  naturally 
fond  of  games  of  chance,  and  are  taught  to  manage  games  of  skill 
from  their  infancy,  yet  they  never  pursue  ill  fortune  with  such 
amazing  intrepidity.  Indeed,  I  may  entirely  acquit  them  of  ever 
playing  —  I  mean  of  playing  for  their  eyes  or  their  teeth. 

It  is  true,  they  often  stake  their  fortune,  their  beauty,  health,  and 

500 


CITIZEN   OF   THE   WORLD 

reputations,  at  a  gaming  table.  It  even  sometimes  happens,  that 
they  play  their  husbands  into  a  jail ;  yet  still  they  preserve  a  decorum 
unknown  to  our  wives  and  daughters  in  China.  I  have  been  present 
at  a  rout  in  this  country,  where  a  woman  of  fashion,  after  losing 
her  money,  has  sat  writhing  in  all  the  agonies  of  bad  luck ;  and  yet, 
after  all,  never  once  attempted  to  strip  a  single  petticoat,  or  cover 
the  board,  as  her  last  stake,  with  her  head-clothes. 

However,  though  I  praise  their  moderation  at  play,  I  must  not 
conceal  their  assiduity.  In  China,  our  women,  except  upon  some 
great  days,  are  never  permitted  to  finger  a  dice-box;  but  here  every 
day  seems  to  be  a  festival,  and  night  itself,  which  gives  others  rest, 
only  serves  to  increase  the  female  gamester's  industry.  I  have  been 
told  of  an  old  lady  in  the  country  who,  being  given  over  by  the 
physicians,  played  with  the  curate  of  her  parish  to  pass  the  time 
away:  having  won  all  his  money,  she  next  proposed  playing  for  her 
funeral  charges:  her  proposal  was  accepted;  but  unfortunately  the 
lady  expired  just  as  she  had  taken  in  her  game. 

There  are  some  passions  which,  though  differently  pursued,  are 
attended  with  equal  consequences  in  every  country:  here  they  game 
with  more  perseverence,  there  with  greater  fury;  here  they  strip 
their  families,  there  they  strip  themselves  naked.  A  lady  in  China 
who  indulges  a  passion  for  gaming,  often  becomes  a  drunkard;  and 
by  flourishing  a  dice-box  in  one  hand,  she  generally  comes  to 
brandish  a  dram-cup  hi  the  other.  Far  be  it  from  me  to  say  there 
are  any  who  drink  drams  in  England;  but  it  is  natural  to  suppose, 
that  when  a  lady  has  lost  every  thing  else  but  her  honour,  she  will 
be  apt  to  toss  that  into  the  bargain ;  and,  grown  insensible  to  nicer 
feelings,  behave  like  the  Spaniard,  who,  when  all  his  money  was 
gone,  endeavoured  to  borrow  more,  by  offering  to  pawn  his  whisker. 
Adieu. 

LETTER  CV 

To  the  Same 

THE   INTENDED   CORONATION   DESCRIBED.         [BEAU  TIBBS   ON  THE 
PREPARATIONS  FOR  THE  SHOW] 

THE  time  for  the  young  king's  coronation  approaches.     The 
great  and  the  little  world  look  forward  with  impatience.     A 
knight  from  the  country,  who  has  brought  up  his  family  to  see  and 
be  seen  on  this  occasion,  has  taken  all  the  lower  part  of  the  house 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

where  I  lodge.  His  wife  is  laying  in  a  large  quantity  of  silks, 
which  the  mercer  tells  her  are  to  be  fashionable  next  season;  and 
Miss,  her  daughter,  has  actually  had  her  ears  bored  previous  to  the 
ceremony.  In  all  this  bustle  of  preparation ,  I  am  considered  as  mere 
lumber,  and  have  been  shoved  up  two  stories  higher,  to  make  room 
for  others  my  landlady  seems  perfectly  convinced  are  my  betters ;  but 
whom,  before  me,  she  is  contented  with  only  calling  very  good  company. 

The  little  beau,  who  has  now  forced  himself  into  my  intimacy, 
was  yesterday  giving  me  a  most  minute  detail  of  the  intended  pro- 
cession. All  men  are  eloquent  upon  their  favourite  topic ;  and  this 
seemed  peculiarly  adapted  to  the  size  and  turn  of  his  understanding. 
His  whole  mind  was  blazoned  over  with  a  variety  of  glittering 
images,  —  coronets,  escutcheons,  lace,  fringe,  tassels,  stones,  bugles, 
and  spun  glass.  "Here,"  cried  he,  "Garter  is  to  walk;  and  there 
Rouge  Dragon  marches  with  the  escutcheons  on  his  back.  Here 
Clarencieux  moves  forward;  and  there  Blue  Mantle  disdains  to  be 
left  behind.  Here  the  Aldermen  march  two  and  two;  and  there 
the  undaunted  Champion  of  England,  no  way  terrified  at  the  very 
numerous  appearance  of  gentlemen  and  ladies,  rides  forward  in 
complete  armour,  and,  with  an  intrepid  air,  throws  down  his  glove. 
Ah!"  continued  he,  "should  any  be  so  hardy  as  to  take  up  that 
fatal  glove,  and  so  accept  the  challenge,  we  should  see  fine  sport; 
the  Champion  would  show  him  no  mercy;  he  would  soon  teach  him 
all  his  passes,  with  a  witness.  However,  I  am  afraid  we  shall  have 
none  willing  to  try  with  him  upon  the  approaching  occasion,  for 
two  reasons,  —  first,  because  his  antagonist  would  stand  a  chance 
of  being  killed  in  the  single  combat;  and,  secondly,  because  if  he 
escapes  the  Champion's  arm,  he  would  certainly  be  hanged  for 
treason.  No,  no;  I  fancy  none  will  be  so  hardy  as  to  dispute  it  with 
a  Champion  like  him,  inured  to  arms ;  and  we  shall  probably  see 
him  prancing  unmolested  away,  holding  his  bridle  thus  hi  one  hand, 
and  brandishing  his  dram-cup  in  the  other." 

Some  men  have  a  manner  of  describing,  which  only  wraps  the 
subject  in  more  than  former  obscurity;  thus  I  was  unable,  with  all 
my  companion's  volubility,  to  form  a  distinct  idea  of  the  intended 
procession.  I  was  certain  that  the  inauguration  of  a  king  should  be 
conducted  with  solemnity  and  religious  awe;  and  I  could  not  be 
persuaded  that  there  was  much  solemnity  in  this  description.  "  If 
this  be  true,"  cried  I  to  myself,  "the  people  of  Europe  surely  have 
a  strange  manner  of  mixing  solemn  and  fantastic  images  together; 

502 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

pictures,  at  once  replete  with  burlesque  and  the  sublime.  At  a 
time  when  the  king  enters  into  the  most  solemn  compact  with  his 
people,  nothing,  surely,  should  be  admitted  to  diminish  from  the 
real  majesty  of  the  ceremony.  A  ludicrous  image,  brought  in  at 
such  a  time,  throws  an  air  of  ridicule  upon  the  whole.  It  someway 
resembles  a  picture  I  have  seen,  designed  by  Albert  Durer,  where, 
amidst  all  the  solemnity  of  that  awful  scene,  a  deity  judging,  and  a 
trembling  world  awaiting  the  decree,  he  has  introduced  a  merry 
mortal  trundling  his  scolding  wife  to  hell  in  a  wheel -barrow." 

My  companion,  who  mistook  my  silence,  during  this  interval  of 
reflection,  for  the  rapture  of  astonishment,  proceeded  to  describe 
those  frivolous  parts  of  the  show  that  most  struck  his  imagination; 
and  to  assure  me,  that  if  I  stayed  in  this  country  some  months 
longer,  I  should  see  fine  things.  "  For  my  own  part,"  continued  he, 
"  I  know  already  of  fifteen  suits  of  clothes,  that  would  stand  on  one 
end  with  gold  lace,  all  designed  to  be  first  shown  there;  and  as  for 
diamonds,  rubies,  emeralds,  and  pearls,  we  shall  see  them  as  thick 
as  brass  nails  in  a  sedan  chair.  And  then  we  are  all  to  walk  so 
majestically  thus;  this  foot  always  behind  the  foot  before.  The 
ladies  are  to  fling  nosegays;  the  court  poets  to  scatter  verses;  the 
spectators  are  to  be  all  in  fuh1  dress;  Mrs.  Tibbs  hi  a  new  sack, 
ruffles,  and  Frenched  hair:  look  where  you  will,  one  thing  finer  than 
another;  Mrs.  Tibbs  curtsies  to  the  Duchess;  her  Grace  returns  the 
compliment  with  a  bow.  'Largess!'  cries  the  Herald.  'Make 
room!'  cries  the  Gentleman  Usher.  'Knock  him  down!'  cries  the 
guard.  Ah!"  continued  he,  amazed  at  his  own  description,  "what 
an  astonishing  scene  of  grandeur  can  Art  produce  from  the  smallest 
circumstance,  when  it  thus  actually  turns  to  wonder  one  man  putting 
on  another  man's  hat!" 

I  now  found  his  mind  was  entirely  set  upon  the  fopperies  of  the 
pageant,  and  quite  regardless  of  the  real  meaning  of  such  costly 
preparations.  "Pageants,"  says  Bacon,  "are  pretty  things;  but 
we  should  rather  study  to  make  them  elegant  than  expensive." 
Processions,  cavalcades,  and  all  that  fund  of  gay  frippery,  furnished 
out  by  tailors,  barbers,  and  tirewomen,  mechanically  influence  the 
mind  into  veneration.  An  emperor  in  his  nightcap  would  not  meet 
with  half  the  respect  of  an  emperor  with  a  glittering  crown.  Politics 
resemble  religion;  attempting  to  divest  either  of  ceremony  is  the 
most  certain  method  of  bringing  either  into  contempt.  The  weak 
must  have  their  inducements  to  admiration  as  well  as  the  wise ;  and 

503 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

it  is  the  business  of  a  sensible  government  to  impress  all  ranks  with 
a  sense  of  subordination,  whether  this  be  effected  by  a  diamond 
buckle,  or  a  virtuous  edict,  a  sumptuary  law,  or  a  glass  necklace. 

This  interval  of  reflection  only  gave  my  companion  spirits  to 
begin  his  description  afresh;  and,  as  a  greater  inducement  to  raise 
my  curiosity,  he  informed  me  of  the  vast  sums  that  were  given  by 
the  spectators  for  places.  "That  the  ceremony  must  be  fine," 
cries  he,  "is  very  evident  from  the  fine  price  that  is  paid  for  seeing 
it.  Several  ladies  have  assured  me,  they  could  willingly  part  with 
one  eye  rather  than  be  prevented  from  looking  on  with  the  other. 
Come,  come,"  continues  he,  "I  have  a  friend,  who,  for  my  sake, 
will  supply  us  with  places  at  the  most  reasonable  rates;  I'll  take 
care  you  shall  not  be  imposed  upon ;  and  he  will  inform  you  of  the 
use,  finery,  rapture,  splendour,  and  enchantment  of  the  whole 
ceremony,  better  than  I." 

Follies  often  repeated  lose  their  absurdity,  and  assume  the  appear- 
ance of  reason.  His  arguments  were  so  often  and  so  strongly 
enforced,  that  I  had  actually  some  thoughts  of  becoming  a  spectator. 
We  accordingly  went  together  to  bespeak  a  place;  but  guess  my 
surprise  when  the  man  demanded  a  purse  of  gold  for  a  single  seat ! 
I  could  hardly  believe  him  serious  upon  making  the  demand. 
"Prithee,  friend,"  cried  I,  "after  I  have  paid  twenty  pounds  for 
sitting  here  an  hour  or  two,  can  I  bring  a  part  of  the  coronation 
back?"  —  "No,  Sir."  —  "How  long  can  I  live  upon  it,  after  I 
have  come  away?"  —  "Not  long,  Sir." — "Can  a  coronation 
clothe,  feed,  or  fatten  me?"  —  "Sir,"  replied  the  man,  "you  seem 
to  be  under  a  mistake ;  all  that  you  can  bring  away  is  the  pleasure 
of  having  it  to  say,  that  you  saw  the  coronation."  —  "Blast  me!" 
cries  Tibbs,  "  if  that  be  all,  there  is  no  need  of  paying  for  that,  since 
I  am  resolved  to  have  that  pleasure,  whether  I  am  there  or  no!" 

I  am  conscious,  my  friend,  that  this  is  but  a  very  confused  descrip- 
ton  of  the  intended  ceremony.  You  may  object,  that  I  neither 
settle  rank,  precedency,  nor  place;  that  I  seem  ignorant  whether 
Gules  walks  before  or  behind  Garter;  that  I  have  neither  mentioned 
the  dimensions  of  a  lord's  cap,  nor  measured  the  length  of  a  lady's 
tail.  I  know  your  delight  is  in  minute  description :  and  this  I  am 
unhappily  disqualified  from  furnishing;  yet,  upon  the  whole,  I 
fancy  it  will  be  no  way  comparable  to  the  magnificence  of  our  late 
Emperor  Whangti's  procession,  when  he  was  married  to  the  moon, 
at  which  Fum  Hoam  himself  presided  in  person.  Adieu. 

5°4 


CITIZEN   OF   THE   WORLD 

LETTER   CXH 
To  the  Same 

AN  ELECTION   DESCRIBED 

THE  English  are  at  present  employed  in  celebrating  a  feast, 
which  becomes  general  every  seventh  year;  the  parliament 
of  the  nation  being  then  dissolved,  and  another  appointed  to  be 
chosen.  This  solemnity  falls  infinitely  short  of  our  Feast  of  the 
Lanterns  in  magnificence  and  splendour;  it  is  also  surpassed  by 
others  of  the  East  in  unanimity  and  pure  devotion;  but  no  festival 
in  the  world  can  compare  with  it  for  eating.  Their  eating,  indeed, 
amazes  me.  Had  I  five  hundred  heads,  and  were  each  head  fur- 
nished with  brains,  yet  would  they  ah1  be  insufficient  to  compute 
the  number  of  cows,  pigs,  geese,  and  turkeys,  which,  upon  this 
occasion,  die  for  the  good  of  their  country! 

To  say  the  truth,  eating  seems  to  make  a  grand  ingredient  in  all 
English  parties  of  zeal,  business,  or  amusement.  When  a  church 
is  to  be  built,  or  an  hospital  endowed,  the  directors  assemble,  and, 
instead  of  consulting  upon  it,  they  eat  upon  it,  by  which  means 
the  business  goes  forward  with  success.  When  the  poor  are  to  be 
relieved,  the  officers  appointed  to  dole  out  public  charity,  assemble 
and  eat  upon  it.  Nor  has  it  ever  been  known  that  they  filled  the 
bellies  of  the  poor,  tih1  they  had  previously  satisfied  their  own.  But 
in  the  election  of  magistrates,  the  people  seem  to  exceed  all  bounds: 
the  merits  of  a  candidate  are  often  measured  by  the  number  of  his 
treats;  his  constituents  assemble,  eat  upon  him,  and  lend  their 
applause,  not  to  his  integrity  or  sense,  but  to  the  quantities  of 
his  beef  and  brandy. 

And  yet  I  could  forgive  this  people  their  plentiful  meals  on  this 
occasion,  as  it  is  extremely  natural  for  every  man  to  eat  a  great  deal 
when  he  gets  it  for  nothing;  but  what  amazes  me  is,  that  all  this  good 
living  no  way  contributes  to  improve  their  good  humour.  On  the 
contrary,  they  seem  to  lose  their  temper  as  they  lose  their  appetites; 
every  morsel  they  swallow,  and  every  glass  they  pour  down,  serves 
to  increase  their  animosity.  Many  an  honest  man,  before  as  harm- 
less as  a  tame  rabbit,  when  loaded  with  a  single  election  dinner, 
has  become  more  dangerous  than  a  charged  culverin.  Upon  one 
of  these  occasions,  I  have  actually  seen  a  bloody-minded  man- 

505 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

milliner  sally  forth  at  the  head  of  a  mob,  determined  to  face  a  des- 
perate pastry-cook,  who  was  general  of  the  opposite  party. 

But  you  must  not  suppose  they  are  without  a  pretext  for  thus 
beating  each  other.  On  the  contrary,  no  man  here  is  so  uncivilized 
as  to  beat  his  neighbour  without  producing  very  sufficient  reasons. 
One  candidate,  for  instance,  treats  with  gin,  a  spirit  of  their  own 
manufacture ;  another  always  drinks  brandy,  imported  from  abroad. 
Brandy  is  a  wholesome  liquor;  gin,  a  liquor  wholly  their  own.  This 
then,  furnishes  an  obvious  cause  of  quarrel,  —  Whether  it  be  most 
reasonable  to  get  drunk  with  gin,  or  get  drunk  with  brandy?  The 
mob  meet  upon  the  debate,  fight  themselves  sober,  and  then  draw 
off  to  get  drunk  again,  and  charge  for  another  encounter.  So  that 
the  English  may  now  properly  be  said  to  be  engaged  in  war;  since, 
while  they  are  subduing  their  enemies  abroad,  they  are  breaking 
each  other's  heads  at  home. 

I  lately  made  an  excursion  to  a  neighbouring  village,  in  order  to 
be  a  spectator  of  the  ceremonies  practised  upon  this  occasion.  I 
left  town  in  company  with  three  fiddlers,  nine  dozen  of  hams,  and 
a  corporation  poet,  which  were  designed  as  reinforcements  to  the 
gin -drinking  party.  We  entered  the  town  with  a  very  good  face; 
the  fiddlers,  no  way  intimidated  by  the  enemy,  kept  handling  their 
arms  up  the  principal  street.  By  this  prudent  manoeuvre,  they  took 
peaceable  possession  of  their  head-quarters,  amidst  the  shouts  of 
multitudes,  who  seemed  perfectly  rejoiced  at  hearing  their  music, 
but,  above  all,  at  seeing  their  bacon. 

I  must  own,  I  could  not  avoid  being  pleased  to  see  all  ranks  of 
people,  on  this  occasion,  levelled  into  an  equality,  and  the  poor, 
hi  some  measure,  enjoying  the  primitive  privileges  of  nature.  If 
there  was  any  distinction  shown,  the  lowest  of  the  people  seemed 
to  receive  it  from  the  rich.  I  could  perceive  a  cobbler  with  a  levee 
at  his  door,  and  a  haberdasher  giving  audience  from  behind  his 
counter.  But  my  reflections  were  soon  interrupted  by  a  mob,  who 
demanded  whether  I  was  for  the  distillery  or  the  brewery?  As 
these  were  terms  with  which  I  was  totally  unacquainted,  I  chose 
at  first  to  be  silent;  however,  I  know  not  what  might  have  been  the 
consequence  of  my  reserve,  had  not  the  attention  of  the  mob  been 
called  off  to  a  skirmish  between  a  brandy-drinker's  cow  and  a  gin- 
drinker's  mastiff,  which  turned  out,  greatly  to  the  satisfaction  of 
the  mob,  in  favour  of  the  mastiff. 

This  spectacle,  which  afforded  high  entertainment,  was  at  last 

506 


H 

•=• 

c 
W 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

ended  by  the  appearance  of  one  of  the  candidates,  who  came  to 
harangue  the  mob:  he  made  a  very  pathetic  speech  upon  the  late 
excessive  importation  of  foreign  drams,  and  the  downfall  of  the 
distillery;  I  could  see  some  of  the  audience  shed  tears.  He  was 
accompanied  in  his  procession  by  Mrs.  Deputy  and  Mrs.  Mayoress. 
Mrs.  Deputy  was  not  in  the  least  in  liquor;  and  as  for  Mrs.  Mayor- 
ess, one  of  the  spectators  assured  me  in  my  ear,  that  —  she  was  a 
very  fine  woman  before  she  had  the  small-pox. 

Mixing  with  the  crowd,  I  was  now  conducted  to  the  hall  where 
the  magistrates  are  chosen ;  but  what  tongue  can  describe  this  scene 
of  confusion!  The  whole  crowd  seemed  equally  inspired  with 
anger,  jealousy,  politics,  patriotism,  and  punch.  I  remarked  one 
figure  that  was  carried  up  by  two  men  upon  this  occasion.  I  at 
first  began  to  pity  his  infirmities  as  natural,  but  soon  found  the 
fellow  so  drunk  that  he  could  not  stand ;  another  made  his  appear- 
ance to  give  his  vote,  but  though  he  could  stand,  he  actually  lost 
the  use"  of  his  tongue,  and  remained  silent;  a  third,  who,  though 
excessively  drunk,  could  both  stand  and  speak,  being  asked  the 
candidate's  name  for  whom  he  voted,  could  be  prevailed  upon  to 
make  no  other  answer  but  "Tobacco  and  brandy."  In  short,  an 
election  hall  seems  to  be  a  theatre,  where  every  passion  is  seen 
without  disguise;  a  school  where  fools  may  readily  become  worse, 
and  where  philosophers  may  gather  wisdom.  Adieu. 

LETTER   CXVII 

To  the  Same 

A  CITY  NIGHT-PIECE 

THE  clock  just  struck  two,  the  expiring  taper  rises  and  sinks 
in  the  socket,  the  watchman  forgets  the  hour  in  slumber,  the 
laborious  and  the  happy  are  at  rest,  and  nothing  wakes  but  medita- 
tion, guilt,  revelry,  and  despair.  The  drunkard  once  more  fills 
the  destroying  bowl,  the  robber  walks  his  midnight  round,  and  the 
suicide  lifts  his  guilty  arm  against  his  own  sacred  person. 

Let  me  no  longer  waste  the  night  over  the  page  of  antiquity,  or 
the  sallies  bf  contemporary  genius,  but  pursue  the  solitary  walk, 
where  vanity,  ever  changing,  but  a  few  hours  past  walked  before 
me:  where  she  kept  up  the  pageant,  and  now,  like  a  froward  child, 
seems  hushed  with  her  own  importunities. 

507 


CITIZEN    OF    THE   WORLD 

What  a  gloom  hangs  all  around !  The  dying  lamp  feebly  emits  a 
yellow  gleam;  no  sound  is  heard  but  of  the  chiming  clock,  or  the 
distant  watch-dog.  All  the  bustle  of  human  pride  is  forgotten :  an 
hour  like  this  may  well  display  the  emptiness  of  human  vanity. 

There  will  come  a  time,  when  this  temporary  solitude  may  be 
made  continual,  and  the  city  itself,  like  its  inhabitants,  fade  away, 
and  leave  a  desert  in  its  room. 

What  cities,  as  great  as  this,  have  once  triumphed  in  existence, 
had  their  victories  as  great,  joy  as  just  and  as  unbounded;  and,  with 
short-sighted  presumption,  promised  themselves  immortality. 
Posterity  can  hardly  trace  the  situation  of  some:  The  sorrowful 
traveller  wanders  over  the  awful  ruins  of  others ;  and,  as  he  beholds, 
he  learns  wisdom,  and  feels  the  transience  of  every  sublunary 
possession. 

"  Here,"  he  cries,  "  stood  their  citadel,  now  grown  over  with  weeds; 
there  their  senate -house,  but  now  the  haunt  of  every  noxious  reptile; 
temples  and  theatres  stood  here,  now  only  an  undistinguished  heap 
of  ruin.  They  are  fallen,  for  luxury  and  avarice  first  made  them 
feeble.  The  rewards  of  the  state  were  conferred  on  amusing,  and 
not  on  useful  members  of  society.  Their  riches  and  opulence 
invited  the  invaders,  who,  though  at  first  repulsed,  returned  again, 
conquered  by  perseverance,  and  at  last  swept  the  defendants  into 
undistinguished  destruction." 

How  few  appear  in  those  streets  which  but  some  few  hours  ago 
were  crowded!  and  those  who  appear,  now  no  longer  wear  their 
daily  mask,  nor  attempt  to  hide  their  lewdness  or  their  misery. 

But  who  are  those  who  make  the  streets  their  couch,  and  find  a 
short  repose  from  wretchedness  at  the  doors  of  the  opulent  ?  These 
are  strangers,  wanderers,  and  orphans,  whose  circumstances  are 
too  humble  to  expect  redress,  and  whose  distresses  are  too  great 
even  for  pity.  Their  wretchedness  excites  rather  horror  than  pity. 
Some  are  without  the  covering  even  of  rags,  and  others  emaciated 
with  disease;  the  world  has  disclaimed  them;  society  turns  its 
back  upon  their  distress,  and  has  given  them  up  to  nakedness  and 
hunger.  These  poor  shivering  females  have  once  seen  happier 
days,  and  been  flattered  into  beauty.  They  have  been  prostituted 
to  the  gay  luxurious  villain,  and  are  now  turned  out  to  meet  the 
severity  of  winter.  Perhaps,  now  lying  at  the  doors  of  their  betray- 
ers, they  sue  to  wretches  whose  hearts  are  insensible,  or  debauchees 
who  may  curse,  but  will  not  relieve  them. 

508 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

Why,  why  was  I  born  a  man,  and  yet  see  the  sufferings  of  wretches 
I  cannot  relieve!  Poor  houseless  creatures  1  the  world  will  give 
you  reproaches,  but  will  not  give  you  relief.  The  slightest  misfor- 
tunes of  the  great,  the  most  imaginary  uneasiness  of  the  rich,  are 
aggravated  with  all  the  power  of  eloquence,  and  held  up  to  engage 
our  attention  and  sympathetic  sorrow.  The  poor  weep  unheeded, 
persecuted  by  every  subordinate  species  of  tyranny;  and  every  law 
which  gives  others  security,  becomes  an  enemy  to  them. 

Why  was  this  heart  of  mine  formed  with  so  much  sensibility? 
or  why  was  not  my  fortune  adapted  to  its  impulse  ?  Tenderness, 
without  a  capacity  of  relieving,  only  makes  the  man  who  feels  it 
more  wretched  than  the  object  which  sues  for  assistance.  Adieu. 


LETTER  CXIX 

To  the  Same 

ON  THE  DISTRESSES  OF  THE  POOR;  EXEMPLIFIED  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  A 
PRIVATE   SENTINEL 

THE  misfortunes  of  the  great,  my  friend,  are  held  up  to  engage 
our  attention,  are  enlarged  upon  in  tones  of  declamation,  and 
the  world  is  called  upon  to  gaze  at  the  noble  sufferers :  they  have  at 
once  the  comfort  of  admiration  and  pity. 

Yet,  where  is  the  magnanimity  of  bearing  misfortunes  when  the 
whole  world  is  looking  on?  Men,  in  such  circumstances,  can  act 
bravely  even  from  motives  of  vanity.  He  only  who  in  the  vale  of 
obscurity,  can  brave  adversity  —  who,  without  friends  to  encourage, 
acquaintances  to  pity,  or  even  without  hope  to  alleviate  his  distresses, 
can  behave  with  tranquillity  and  indifference,  is  truly  great:  whether 
peasant  or  courtier,  he  deserves  admiration,  and  should  be  held  up 
for  our  imitation  and  respect. 

[While  the  slightest  inconveniences  of  the  great  are  magnified  into 
calamities ;  while  tragedy  mouths  out  their  sufferings  in  all  the  strains 
of  eloquence],  the  miseries  of  the  poor  are,  however,  entirely  disre- 
garded ;  though  some  undergo  more  real  hardships  in  one  day,  than 
the  great  in  their  whole  lives.  It  is  indeed  inconceivable  what 
difficulties  the  meanest  English  sailor  or  soldier  endures  without 
murmuring  or  regret  [;  without  passionately  declaiming  against 
Providence,  or  calling  their  fellows  to  be  gazers  on  their  intrepidity]. 

5°9 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

Every  day  to  him  is  a  day  of  misery,  and  yet  he  bears  his  hard  fate 
without  repining. 

With  what  indignation  do  I  hear  the  heroes  of  tragedy  complain  of 
misfortunes  and  hardships,  whose  greatest  calamity  is  founded  in 
arrogance  and  pride !  Their  severest  distresses  are  pleasures,  com- 
pared to  what  many  of  the  adventuring  poor  every  day  sustain  with- 
out murmuring.  These  may  eat,  drink,  and  sleep;  have  slaves  to 
attend  them,  and  are  sure  of  subsistence  for  life;  while  many  of 
their  fellow-creatures  are  obliged  to  wander,  without  a  friend  to 
comfort  or  to  assist  them,  find  enmity  in  every  law,  and  are  too  poor 
to  obtain  even  justice. 

I  have  been  led  into  these  reflections  from  accidentally  meeting, 
some  days  ago,  a  poor  fellow  begging  at  one  of  the  outlets  of  this 
town,  with  a  wooden  leg.  I  was  curious  to  learn  what  had  reduced 
him  to  his  present  situation ;  and,  after  giving  him  what  I  thought 
proper,  desired  to  know  the  history  of  his  life  and  misfortunes,  and 
the  manner  in  which  he  was  reduced  to  his  present  distress.  The 
disabled  soldier,  for  such  he  was,  with  an  intrepidity  truly  British, 
leaning  on  his  crutch,  put  himself  into  an  attitude  to  comply  with  my 
request,  and  gave  me  his  history  as  follows :  — 

"As  for  misfortunes,  Sir,  I  cannot  pretend  to  have  gone  through 
more  than  others.  Except  the  loss  of  my  limb,  and  my  being  obliged 
to  beg,  I  don't  know  any  reason,  thank  Heaven,  that  I  have  to  com- 
plain: there  are  some  who  have  lost  both  legs  and  an  eye;  but, 
thank  Heaven,  it  is  not  quite  so  bad  with  me. 

"  My  father  was  a  labourer  in  the  country,  and  died  when  I  was 
five  years  old;  so  I  was  put  upon  the  parish.  As  he  had  been  a 
wandering  sort  of  a  man,  the  parishioners  were  notable  to  tell  to  what 
parish  I  belonged,  or  where  I  was  born ;  so  they  sent  me  to  another 
parish,  and  that  parish  sent  me  to  a  third:  till  at  last  it  was  thought 
I  belonged  to  no  parish  at  all.  At  length,  however,  they  fixed  me. 
I  had  some  disposition  to  be  a  scholar,  and  had  actually  learned  my 
letters;  but  the  master  of  the  workhouse  put  me  to  business  as  soon 
as  I  was  able  to  handle  a  mallet. 

"  Here  I  lived  an  easy  kind  of  a  life  for  five  years.  I  only  wrought 
ten  hours  in  the  day,  and  had  my  meat  and  drink  provided  for  my 
labour.  It  is  true,  I  was  not  suffered  to  stir  far  from  the  house,  for 
fear  I  should  run  away:  but  what  of  that?  I  had  the  liberty  of  the 
whole  house,  and  the  yard  before  the  door,  and  that  was  enough  for 
me. 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

"I  was  next  bound  out  to  a  farmer,  where  I  was  up  both  early 
and  late;  but  I  ate  and  drank  well,  and  liked  my  business  well 
enough,  till  he  died.  Being  then  obliged  to  provide  for  myself,  I 
was  resolved  to  go  and  seek  my  fortune.  Thus  I  lived,  and  went 
from  town  to  town,  working  when  I  could  get  employment,  and 
starving  when  I  could  get  none,  and  might  have  lived  so  still.  But 
happen  irg  one  day  to  go  through  a  field  belonging  to  a  magistrate, 
I  spied  a  hare  crossing  the  path  just  before  me.  I  believe  the  devil 
put  it  in  my  head  to  fling  my  stick  at  it :  well,  what  will  you  have 
on't  ?  I  killed  the  hare,  and  was  bringing  it  away  hi  triumph,  when 
the  Justice  himself  met  me:  he  called  me  a  villain,  and,  collaring  me, 
desired  I  would  give  an  account  of  myself.  I  began  immediately 
to  give  a  full  account  of  all  that  I  knew  of  my  breed,  seed,  and 
generation;  but  though  I  gave  a  very  long  account,  the  Justice 
said  I  could  give  no  account  of  myself;  so  I  was  indicted,  and  found 
guilty  of  being  poor,  and  sent  to  Newgate  in  order  to  be  trans- 
ported to  the  plantations. 

"  People  may  say  this  and  that  of  being  in  jail ;  but  for  my  part, 
I  found  Newgate  as  agreeable  a  place  as  ever  I  was  hi  hi  all  my  life. 
I  had  my  bellyful  to  eat  and  drink,  and  did  no  work;  but,  alas! 
this  kind  of  life  was  too  good  to  last  for  ever!  I  was  taken  out  of 
prison,  after  five  months,  put  on  board  of  a  ship,  and  sent  off  with 
two  hundred  more.  Our  passage  was  but  indifferent,  for  we  were 
all  confined  in  the  hold,  and  died  very  fast,  for  want  of  sweet  air 
and  provisions;  but,  for  my  part,  I  did  not  want  meat,  because  I 
had  a  fever  all  the  way:  Providence  was  kind;  when  provisions 
grew  short,  it  took  away  my  desire  of  eating.  When  we  came 
ashore,  we  were  sold  to  the  planters.  I  was  bound  for  seven  years, 
and  as  I  was  no  scholar  —  for  I  had  forgot  my  letters  —  I  was 
obliged  to  work  among  the  negroes;  and  served  out  my  time,  as  in 
duty  bound  to  do. 

"When  my  time  was  expired,  I  worked  my  passage  home,  and 
glad  I  was  to  see  Old  England  again,  because  I  loved  my  country. 
O,  liberty!  liberty!  liberty!  that  is  the  property  of  every  English- 
man, and  I  will  die  hi  its  defence!  I  was  afraid,  however,  that 
I  should  be  indicted  for  a  vagabond  once  more,  so  I  did  not 
much  care  to  go  hi  to  the  country,  but  kept  about  town,  and 
did  little  jobs  when  I  could  get  them.  I  was  very  happy  in  this 
manner  for  some  time;  till  one  evening,  coming  home  from  work, 
two  men  knocked  me  down,  and  then  desired  me  to  stand  still. 

5" 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

They  belonged  to  a  press-gang:  I  was  carried  before  the  Justice, 
and  as  I  could  give  no  account  of  myself,  (that  was  the  thing  that 
always  hobbled  me,)  I  had  my  choice  left,  whether  to  go  on  board 
a  man-of-war,  or  list  for  a  soldier.  I  chose  to  be  a  soldier;  and  in 
this  post  of  a  gentleman  I  served  two  campaigns,  was  at  the  battles 
in  Flanders,  and  received  but  one  wound  through  the  breast,  which 
is  troublesome  to  this  day. 

"When  the  peace  came  on,  I  was  discharged;  and  as  I  could  not 
work,  because  my  wound  was  sometimes  painful,  I  listed  for  a 
landman  in  the  East  India  Company's  service.  I  here  fought  the 
French  in  six  pitched  battles ;  and  verily  believe,  that  if  I  could  read 
or  write,  our  captain  would  have  given  me  promotion,  and  made  me 
a  corporal.  But  that  was  not  my  good  fortune,  I  soon  fell  sick,  and 
when  I  became  good  for  nothing,  got  leave  to  return  home  again 
with  forty  pounds  in  my  pocket,  which  I  saved  in  the  service.  This 
was  at  the  beginning  of  the  present  war,  so  I  hoped  to  be  set  on 
shore,  and  to  have  the  pleasure  of  spending  my  money;  but  the 
government  wanted  men,  and  I  was  pressed  again,  before  ever  I 
could  set  foot  on  shore. 

"The  boatswain  found  me,  as  he  said,  an  obstinate  fellow:  he 
swore  that  I  understood  my  business  perfectly  well,  but  that  I 
pretended  sickness  merely  to  be  idle.  God  knows,  I  knew  nothing 
of  sea  business :  he  beat  me  without  considering  what  he  was  about. 
But  still  my  forty  pounds  was  some  comfort  to  me  under  every 
beating:  the  money  was  my  comfort,  and  the  money  I  might  have 
had  to  this  day,  but  that  our  ship  was  taken  by  the  French,  and  so 
I  lost  it  all! 

"Our  crew  was  carried  into  a  French  prison,  and  many  of  them 
died,  because  they  were  not  used  to  live  in  a  jail ;  but  for  my  part, 
it  was  nothing  to  me,  for  I  was  seasoned.  One  night,  however,  as 
I  was  sleeping  on  a  bed  of  boards,  with  a  warm  blanket  about  me, 
(for  I  always  loved  to  lie  well,)  I  was  awaked  by  the  boatswain, 
who  had  a  dark  lantern  in  his  hand.  'Jack,'  says  he  to  me,  'will 
you  knock  out  the  French  sentries'  brains?'  —  'I  don't  care,'  says 
I,  striving  to  keep  myself  awake,  'if  I  lend  a  hand.'  —  'Then 
follow  me,'  says  he,  'and  I  hope  we  shall  do  business.'  So  up  I 
got,  and  tied  my  blanket,  which  was  all  the  clothes  I  had,  about 
my  middle,  and  went  with  him  to  fight  the  Frenchmen.  We  had 
no  arms;  but  one  Englishman  is  able  to  beat  five  French  at  any 
time;  so  we  went  down  to  the  door,  where  both  the  sentries  were 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

posted,  and,  rushing  upon  them,  seized  their  arms  in  a  moment, 
and  knocked  them  down.  From  thence,  nine  of  us  ran  together 
to  the  quay,  and  seizing  the  first  boat  we  met,  got  out  of  the  harbour 
and  put  to  sea.  We  had  not  been  here  three  days  before  we  were 
taken  up  by  an  English  privateer,  who  was  glad  of  so  many  good 
hands ;  and  we  consented  to  run  our  chance.  However,  we  had  not 
so  much  luck  as  we  expected.  In  three  days  we  fell  in  with  a  French 
man-of-war,  of  forty  guns,  while  we  had  but  twen ty- three ;  so  to  it 
we  went.  The  fight  lasted  for  three  hours,  and  I  verily  believe 
we  should  have  taken  the  Frenchman,  but  unfortunately,  we  lost 
almost  all  our  men,  just  as  we  were  going  to  get  the  victory.  I  was 
once  more  in  the  power  of  the  French,  and  I  believe  it  would  have 
gone  hard  with  me,  had  I  been  brought  back  to  my  old  jail  in  Brest; 
but,  by  good  fortune,  we  were  retaken,  and  carried  to  England  once 
more. 

"I  had  almost  forgot  to  tell  you,  that  in  this  last  engagement  I 
was  wounded  in  two  places,  —  I  lost  four  fingers  of  the  left  hand, 
and  my  leg  was  shot  off.  Had  I  had  the  good  fortune  to  have  lost 
my  leg  and  use  of  my  hand  on  board  a  king's  ship,  and  not  a  priva- 
teer, I  should  have  been  entitled  to  clothing  and  maintenance  during 
the  rest  of  my  life;  but  that  was  not  my  chance:  one  man  is  born 
with  a  silver  spoon  in  his  mouth,  and  another  with  a  wooden  ladle. 
However,  blessed  be  God,  I  enjoy  good  health,  and  have  no  enemy 
in  this  world,  that  I  know  of,  but  the  French  and  the  Justice  of 
Peace." 

Thus  saying,  he  limped  off,  leaving  my  friend  and  me  in  admira- 
tion of  his  intrepidity  and  content;  nor  could  we  avoid  acknowledg- 
ing, that  an  habitual  acquaintance  with  misery,  is  the  truest  school 
of  fortitude  and  philosophy.  Adieu. 


LETTER  CXXIH 

To  the  Same 

THE   CONCLUSION 

AFTER  a  variety  of  disappointments,  my  wishes  are  at  length 
fully  satisfied.     My  son,   so  long  expected,   is  arrived,  at 
once,  by  his  presence,  banishing  my  anxiety,  and  opening  a  new 
scene  of  unexpected  pleasure.     His  improvements  in  mind  and 

513 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

person  have  far  surpassed  even  the  sanguine  expectations  of  a 
father.  I  left  him  a  boy,  but  he  is  returned  a  man ;  pleasing  in  his 
person,  hardened  by  travel,  and  polished  by  adversity.  His  dis- 
appointment in  love,  however,  had  infused  an  air  of  melancholy 
into  his  conversation,  which  seemed  at  intervals  to  interrupt  our 
mutual  satisfaction.  I  expected  that  this  could  find  a  cure  only 
from  time;  but  fortune,  as  if  willing  to  load  us  with  her  favours, 
has,  in  a  moment,  repaid  every  uneasiness  with  rapture. 

Two  days  after  his  arrival,  the  man  in  black,  with  his  beautiful 
niece,  came  to  congratulate  us  upon  this  pleasing  occasion;  but, 
guess  our  surprise,  when  my  friend's  lovely  kinswoman  was  found 
to  be  the  very  captive  my  son  had  rescued  from  Persia,  and  who 
had  been  wrecked  on  the  Wolga,  and  was  carried  by  the  Russian 
peasants  to  the  port  of  Archangel.  Were  I  to  hold  the  pen  of  a 
novelist,  I  might  be  prolix  in  describing  their  feelings  at  so  unex- 
pected an  interview;  but  you  may  conceive  their  joy  without  my 
assistance:  words  were  unable  to  express  their  transports,  then 
how  can  words  describe  it? 

When  two  young  persons  are  sincerely  enamoured  of  each  other, 
nothing  can  give  me  such  pleasure  as  seeing  them  married :  whether 
I  know  the  parties  or  not,  I  am  happy  at  thus  binding  one  link 
more  in  the  universal  chain.  Nature  has,  in  some  measure,  formed 
me  for  a  matchmaker,  and  given  me  a  soul  to  sympathize  with 
every  mode  of  human  felicity.  I  instantly,  therefore,  consulted 
the  man  in  black,  whether  we  might  not  crown  their  mutual  wishes 
by  marriage :  his  soul  seems  formed  of  similar  materials  with  mine ; 
he  instantly  gave  his  consent,  and  the  next  day  was  appointed  for 
the  solemnization  of  the  nuptials. 

All  the  acquaintances  which  I  had  made  since  my  arrival,  were 
present  at  this  gay  solemnity.  The  little  beau  was  constituted 
master  of  the  ceremonies,  and  his  wife,  Mrs.  Tibbs,  conducted 
the  entertainment  with  proper  decorum.  The  man  in  black,  and 
the  pawnbroker's  widow,  were  very  sprightly  and  tender  upon  this 
occasion.  The  widow  was  dressed  up  under  the  direction  of  Mrs. 
Tibbs;  and  as  for  her  lover,  his  face  was  set  off  by  the  assistance 
of  a  pig-tail  wig,  which  was  lent  by  the  little  beau,  to  fit  him  for 
making  love  with  proper  formality.  The  whole  company  easily 
perceived  that  it  would  be  a  double  wedding  before  all  was  over, 
and,  indeed,  my  friend  and  "the  widow  seemed  to  make  no  secret 
of  their  passion ;  he  even  called  me  aside,  in  order  to  know  my  candid 


CITIZEN   OF   THE   WORLD 

opinion,  whether  I  did  not  think  him  a  little  too  old  to  be  married  ? 
"As  for  my  own  part,"  continued  he,  "I  know  I  am  going  to  play 
the  fool,  but  all  my  friends  will  praise  my  wisdom,  and  produce  me 
as  the  very  pattern  of  discretion  to  others." 

At  dinner,  every  thing  seemed  to  run  on  with  good-humour, 
harmony,  and  satisfaction.  Every  creature  in  company  thought 
themselves  pretty,  and  every  jest  was  laughed  at.  The  man  in 
black  sat  next  his  mistress,  helped  her  plate,  chimed  her  glass,  and 
jogging  her  knees  and  her  elbow,  he  whispered  something  arch  in 
her  ear,  on  which  she  patted  his  cheek:  never  was  antiquated  pas- 
sion so  playful,  so  harmless,  and  amusing,  as  between  this  reverend 
couple. 

The  second  course  was  now  called  for,  and,  among  a  variety  of 
other  dishes,  a  fine  turkey  was  placed  before  the  widow.  The 
Europeans,  you  know,  carve  as  they  eat;  my  friend,  therefore, 
begged  his  mistress  to  help  him  to  a  part  of  the  turkey.  The  widow, 
pleased  with  an  opportunity  of  showing  her  skill  in  carving,  an  art 
upon  which  it  seems  she  piqued  herself,  began  to  cut  it  up  by  first 
taking  off  the  leg.  "Madam,"  cries  my  friend,  "if  I  might  be  per- 
mitted to  advise,  I  would  begin  by  cutting  off  the  wing,  and  then 
the  leg  will  come  off  more  easily." -— "Sir,"  replies  the  widow, 
"give  me  leave  to  understand  cutting  up  a  fowl:  I  always  begin  with 
the  leg."  —  "Yes,  Madam,"  replies  the  lover,  "but  if  the  wing  be 
the  most  convenient  manner,  I  would  begin  with  the  wing,"  — 
"Sir,"  interrupts  the  lady,  "when  you  have  fowls  of  your  own, 
begin  with  the  wing,  if  you  please,  but  give  me  leave  to  take  off  the 
leg;  I  hope  I  am  not  to  be  taught  at  this  time  of  day."  —  "  Madam," 
interrupts  he,  "we  are  never  too  old  to  be  instructed."  —  "Old, 
Sir!"  interrupts  the  other,  "who  is  old,  Sir?  when  I  die  of  age,  I 
know  of  some  that  will  quake  for  fear:  If  the  leg  does  not  come  off, 
take  the  turkey  to  yourself." -  —  "Madam,"  replied  the  man  in 
black,  "  I  don't  care  a  farthing  whether  the  leg  or  the  wing  comes 
off;  if  you  are  for  the  leg  first,  why  you  shall  have  the  argument, 
.even  though  it  be  as  I  say."  —  "As  for  the  matter  of  that,"  cries 
the  widow,  "  I  don't  care  a  fig  whether  you  are  for  the  leg  off  or  on ; 
and,  friend,  for  the  future,  keep  your  distance."  —  "  O,"  replied 
the  other,  "  that  is  easily  done ;  it  is  only  removing  to  the  other  end 
of  the  table;  and  so,  Madam,  your  most  obedient  humble  servant." 

Thus  was  this  courtship  of  an  age  destroyed  in  one  moment; 
for  this  dialogue  effectually  broke  off  the  match  between  this  re- 

515 


CITIZEN    OF   THE   WORLD 

spectable  couple,  that  had  been  but  just  concluded.  The  smallest 
accidents  disappoint  the  most  important  treaties.  However,  though 
it  in  some  measure  interrupted  the  general  satisfaction,  it  no  ways 
lessened  the  happiness  of  the  youthful  couple;  and,  by  the  young 
lady's  looks,  I  could  perceive  she  was  not  entirely  displeased  with 
this  interruption. 

In  a  few  hours  the  whole  transaction  seemed  entirely  forgotten, 
and  we  have  all  since  enjoyed  those  satisfactions  which  result  from 
a  consciousness  of  making  each  other  happy.  My  son  and  his  fair 
partner  are  fixed  here  for  life :  the  man  in  black  has  given  them  up 
a  small  estate  in  the  country,  which,  added  to  what  I  was  able 
to  bestow,  will  be  capable  of  supplying  all  the  real,  but  not  the 
fictitious  demands  of  happiness.  As  for  myself,  the  world  being 
but  one  city  to  me,  I  do  not  much  care  in  which  of  the  streets  I 
happen  to  reside:  I  shall,  therefore,  spend  the  remainder  of  my 
life  in  examining  the  manners  of  different  countries,  and  have  pre- 
vailed upon  the  man  in  black  to  be  my  companion.  "  They  must 
often  change,"  says  Confucius,  "who  would  be  constant  in  happi- 
ness or  wisdom."  Adieu. 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


'D  10-ORl 

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A     000106695     o 


